All of it
by dianasdaughter
Summary: After the love of his life, Isabella, is lost to him in a terrible accident 12 years prior, socialite Dr. Edward Masen finds himself in the mountains of Vermont. through a series of mutual connections, coincidences, and a large amount of fate, Edward meets a mysterious Marie Black on a dark road at night. Is everything as it seems? ExB, set in 1935-1947
1. Chapter 1

_The Twilight Saga_ © belongs to Stephenie Meyer. As derivative fiction, all copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is all the original author's. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without their express written authorization.

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><p>It wasn't the typical weather one expects for a funeral.<p>

Despite the somber circumstances, the crisp April sky radiated a deep cloudless blue, fading to pastel where it met the horizon. The cool expanse was intercepted by the budding trees that were scattered around the small cemetery in Vermont. It was odd to feel cheerless when the weather and the earth were so happy.

After following the caravan of vehicles to his final resting place, I shifted uneasily from foot to foot, scanning the faces of the crowd that had congregated to pay their final respects to my fellow comrade in arms, Alec Afton. A survivor of the war, Alec met his fate on a slick road during the night, wrapping his Ford around a tree off a tight bend on a lonely highway. He was survived by his wife Chelsea, their son, and the wee babe in Chelsea's belly.

Several of my former colleagues dotted the crowd, each of us wearing our decorated uniforms in honor of Alec's Military Funeral. With a flag draped over the casket, we listened to the preacher's words and stood tall and proud for the guns salute that echoed off the silence of the occasion.

Alec and I had both worked in a military evacuation hospital during the last two years of the Second Great War. I was a young doctor and Alec was a transport medic. The times we spent recalling home mainly consisted of Alec speaking about Chelsea, and me listening. He had asked me once about any girls I'd left back home, and I eventually told him my tale, which ended with me enlisting because I felt like I had nothing to lose. Surely I didn't, not with the love of my life gone forever.

The day before, I had attended the wake and had managed to speak briefly with Alec's young widow. Though I had never met her, I felt like I had known her for years, recalling the many conversations with Alec during my two years of service. While I could have bought flowers, I chose instead to offer her my services as a doctor should she need it. Although I lived in New York, I could be in Vermont within a day if needed. Chelsea seemed grateful for my offer, and we exchanged contact information. She said that Alec had spoken of me and the friendship we had struck while overseas. While she had missed him dearly, she was glad he had met a loyal friend during that dark time. _If she had only known, she wouldn't have called me loyal. _Alec and I had written back and forth a few times over the past two years, mainly during holidays, but I had never had a chance to see him again before the accident.

I didn't deal with unexpected death very well, and after the funeral my first inclination was to find the nearest bar and drink my emotions away. Attending Alec's funeral was a way to pay final respects and support his loved ones, and I wouldn't have done a good job of that if I had allowed myself to break down in the middle of the service. Instead, I planned on numbing my heartache with a bottle of scotch later on.

As the funeral procession came to a close, I mindlessly found my way back to my car, and my mind wandered to the person whose funeral I missed; the person I will never forget.

Arriving at my hotel, I was directed to a tavern not half a block down the street. I forced myself through a heavy wooden door flanked by windows covered in dirty linen curtains and back lit by sallow yellow lights hanging from the ceiling. Entering this place almost seemed like a punishment compared to the lifestyle to which I was accustomed, but considering my frame of mind, perhaps punishment was long overdue.

It was 12 years and two months that she was taken from me, stolen in the night, when my most honorable intentions were stained by the heinous lie I told her. I was in love with her when I forced her away from me and I was still in love with her when I walked through the doors of the dirty bar - that is if one can be in love with a ghost. All I knew is that my heart had never again felt what it had felt with her, and I never expected to feel that way again.

The rest of the establishment was shadowed in dark woods and more dim lighting. An old upright piano sat in the corner, and although its facade had seen better days, I could tell by the style that it was a Broadwood, possibly from the turn of the century. My fingers twitched reflexively to play it, although it had been a long time that I've been inspired to make music of any sort. I must not have wanted to play too much in that moment however, as my inclination was immediately tempered when someone turned up a scratchy radio which effectively drowned out the low chatter from the bar's other patrons.

Sidling up to the bar at the tavern, I was caught off guard and nearly walked right back out the door. Behind the tall counter was a small man in a clean, but wrinkled dress shirt, with black pants so large they resembled waders. They were kept in place by a pair of black suspenders stretched tightly from back to front, which only served to advertise his bony shoulders. His sleeves were rolled up to just below the elbow, revealing the hodgepodge of tattoos on his arms. They did nothing to make his small frame appear more menacing, but I did realize that I would have hesitated a moment or two before doing anything to anger this obviously well-experienced fellow.

However, It wasn't the finer details of the bar man's outfit that stopped me cold. Nor was it the red head in the corner that pouted her lips and fluttered her heavy eyelashes in my direction. What caused me to pause was the sign hanging above the counter just over the array of liquor bottles arranged haphazardly on a shelf.

"Rainier – Bock Beer is here!"

The sign sent chills down my spine, as it was a slogan I hadn't seen in over a decade, but one that was imprinted on my brain like I had seen it yesterday. It was one visual reminder of one of the best nights of my life, and one of the greatest tragedies as well.

_Her lips were slick and wet after she pulled away from the bottle of Rainier Bock. She didn't realize all the ways she drove me crazy. Sure, some of them were intentional. She wore the perfume that unhinged me, and more than once she had bent her head down to look at me through her lashes, pouting her lips. But for each intentional move she had mastered in order to set me on fire, she had ten unconscious habits that made me want to be on her, in her, around her all the time._

_This time, it was the way she absentmindedly swirled the condensation on the bottle with her right index finger. I knew how that hand, soft and warm felt on my skin, and the sight of her passing it languidly over the slick surface of the bottle only increased the tension I felt whenever I was around her. If that weren't enough, she suddenly became aware of her actions, and slowly brought her hand up to suck the moisture from her skin. To restrain myself from the sight of her full lips enveloping the tip of her finger, I refocused my gaze on the bottle itself._

"_Beer, really? A lady deserves champagne."_

_Her finger popped from her mouth, and my pants became increasingly uncomfortable._

"_I have that, too Edward. For later. To celebrate." _

_Smirking, she leaned forward and slowly placed her cool lips on mine she snaked her arms around my neck, and when she pressed her chest against me, all my control was gone._

I caught the eye of the bar tender, and before long, I realized it was futile to try to focus on my scotch. Finally, I couldn't help my curiosity any longer.

"Where did you go about finding an advertisement such as that?" I motioned toward the Rainier page on the bar, "I haven't seen that particular solicitation in years, and I wouldn't expect to find it here in the east."

The bar tender glanced halfheartedly over at the sign, "We had a…patron who used to come in here, brought that sign in for decoration. Apparently the family hated that old thing hanging around."

I nodded my understanding though the explanation didn't register with me, and then quickly finished off my drink and raised my hand for another.

"Something troubling you tonight, sir?" The barkeep questioned. His head was a mop of coppery hair, lighter and more wiry than my own. His eyes wrinkled at the corners as he raised one bushy eyebrow at me like a question mark.

I sighed, deciding which portion of my story I was willing to feed him. I wondered how much he cared to listen. "That depends, how long do you want me to bother you?"

He chuckled silently, "Well, I do get paid for it. Besides, it's a slow night, and usually whatever I get to hear at work makes me feel better about my own life."

As I was about to respond, a couple of men approached the bar to levy their tab, _"Thanks Liam."_ the barkeep nodded as they disappeared into the street.

"Well, Liam," I started, trying out his name, "I went to a funeral today. A Veteran, former Evac hospital comrade, car crash."

Liam nodded, and a hint of recognition passed through his face, "Sad story, read about it in yesterday's news." Considering this was a small town, his familiarity with the incident wasn't surprising.

"Still," he continued, "not something men go usually go out drinking for on their own for." He paused and took a deep breath, and his eyes bored into me, his lips pursing in concentration. "You look more like a woman troubles kind of guy."

I laughed humorlessly at his response. Yes, woman troubles. But not the kind he was thinking of.

"Woman troubles indeed, Liam. Let me tell you the story about the love of my life, Isabella Swan."

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><p>AN: Should I keep going with this? Please let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. No Copyright infringement intended.

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><p><em>Isabella Swan.<em>

I stared into the distance for a long time at Liam after saying her name out loud. Just having those words fall from my lips was jarring, like hearing the sound of my own voice after a long silence. I wasn't sure what I wanted to say, or how much I needed to get off my chest.

I leveled my eyes with Liam and waited for his gaze to return to mine. He looked up waiting for me to start as he ran a rag over the bar's counter top.

"She was the most beautiful woman I have known, inside and out," I began.

"We met as juniors in high school. She was new to Seattle, and I belonged to one of the wealthiest families in the Pacific Northwest. She was the new step-daughter of the state's Supreme Court Judge Phillip Dwyer. Dwyer's marriage to Isabella's mother Renee was the scandal of the year, and at first my parents didn't approve of my courting her. Over time, my parents warmed up to her, my mother and her were civil and my father stopped reminding me of the social ramification of associating with what our circle of acquaintances called, 'One of the Swan girls' - even though Renee had changed her last name to Dwyer. Isabella was fiercely loyal to her biological father, and although many thought it proper she change her last name, she refused vehemently. Renee and Philip could have forced her, but, perhaps out of guilt they let her keep the Swan surname.

I thought the name was perfect – she was my swan. Pale, lovely, quiet, fierce when she needed to be. Like a Swan on land and then water, she could appear clumsy in one moment and devastatingly graceful in the next. She was intelligent, thoughtful, introspective, compassionate, and industrious. Isabella was made for me. She was my everything.

Renee was not readily accepted into the upper crust families of Seattle. For one, she was a divorcée, and second, she and Isabella did not come from a wealthy family, so they were somewhat ignorant of our customs. I know that Isabella often found her lack of knowledge embarrassing. I myself found it sweet and endearing, and I enjoyed teaching her the ins and outs of life among socialite families. Isabella was a keen observer and a quick learn. It wasn't long before she was behaving in ways that made both her and I more comfortable.

Mrs. Dwyer, on the other hand, seemed to go out of her way to behave in a contrary way than what was expected in a woman of her position. Her antics were grist for the gossip mill that ran endlessly during Saturday afternoon tea at one society woman's house or another. When talk of her divorce and subsequent coupling with Judge Dwyer, Renee's intentions were speculated; some believed she faked a pregnancy to trap him, others believed that she was blackmailing him. Truthfully Renee was beautiful, and almost 20 years younger than her husband, so some believed that Judge Dwyer was looking for a trophy rather than a wife. Her attractive and youthful looks only spurned some of the more weathered society ladies.

Renee's…ways didn't help. She insisted on keeping a vegetable garden, although her husband could have paid 2 or more staff to keep one for her. My mother's friends spent weeks tittering about Judge Dwyer's wife bent over like a common woman pulling weeds. While it was considered acceptable for a woman of our status to keep flowers and cultivate roses, they didn't usually grow food. That was for women who couldn't afford to pay others to grow it for her.

Mrs. Dwyer kept up an innumerable amount of hobbies that only fed everyone's negative view of her. For myself, I came to know her better than any society lady or gossiping old bitty. I met her on several occasions while visiting Isabella.

In many ways, Renee and Isabella were different like night was to day. Isabella was very practical, contemplative, and careful. Renee was child-like. She was fascinated and enthusiastic about everything, and didn't allow social conventions to limit her curious mind. Isabella obviously inherited Renee's intelligence, but was able to take it to a level further than her mother due to her studious and determined nature. While Isabella was always a homebody who preferred cooking and reading, Renee was always outdoors. Whether she was pulling weeds or riding a bicycle in downtown Seattle, Renee loved to be active.

Physically, Isabella was like a younger version of her mother, but with darker hair and eyes. Renee was sandy blond with blue eyes, while Isabella had hair like chestnut and mahogany and eyes like dark chocolate. They both had soft curvy features, high breasts and slender yet feminine hips. Was I a pervert for checking out my girlfriend's mother so closely? Perhaps, but I was never aroused by it, so I suppose it was more a product of my observant nature than my youthful urges.

"_Remind me again of this young lady's name, Edward?" My mother eyed my over her tea cup while Mrs. Stanley and Mrs. Mallory looked on with sour expressions on their face._

_I had just come into the house on a Saturday afternoon after enjoying a impromptu game of baseball with a few of my school friends. Isabella had sat in the shade and watched while I busted my body on the diamond trying to impress her. I entered through the back door of our house intent on cleaning up before I approached mother with my request, but my mind and my lips were bursting with my love's name and face, and before I realized my mother had company, I called out to her in the great room, announcing to her that I had seen "my girl" and that she was a lovely as ever._

"_Isabella, mother. Isabella Swan." I gulped nervously. At 17 years of age, I was many things: A varsity athlete; a charismatic member of the student body; school president; homecoming king and a chronic momma's boy._

"_Hmmm," My mother replied, "Is that Judge Dwyer's new step daughter? I haven't met her, although I have met her mother." The two ladies in my mother presence tittered and eyed each other at the comment. "Tell me Edward, what's she like?"_

"_Well," I began nervously, clearing my throat. I had heard of the newly married Renee Dwyer, and the reputation that had followed her from Forks Washington upon marrying a local Judge. Therefore, I knew to steer clear from any adjectives that may place Isabella in remotely in the same light, "She's…quiet, a bit shy. She's very good in academics, especially English and History, but she's not so good in athletics. She's…self-conscious maybe? She's-"_

"_You mean she's clumsy?" Mrs. Mallory interjected. I felt my body stiffen as I controlled the ungentlemanly remark that was straining to escape from my lips. It wouldn't be very becoming of me to remind Mrs. Mallory just how much her daughter has shown her physical capabilities to most of the male students at the Academy._

"_I…well, I wouldn't say clumsy. Like I said, she is shy and sweet and she becomes nervous when attracting attention…" _Oh god, this wasn't going well.

_Despite the fact that I wanted to tell my mother just how wonderful Isabella Swan was, I couldn't seem to do anything but highlight her weaknesses. Thankfully, my mother managed to maintain a sense of decorum in front of the local gossips, "Well my dear son, I hope you had a good time. Tell me, when can I expect to meet young Miss Swan?"_

"_That's what I would like to ask of you mother, I would like to invite her to brunch on Sunday. May I?" _

_The two women flanking my mother continued to scowl, while a sweet and small smile crept over her mouth…_

Courting me made the vipers at our circle target Isabella even further. Due to my family connections and apparent good looks, every society girl coveted my affections, and it was considered highly unjust that the new girl – _"The Swan Girl"- _was the one I favored. In my mind, there was no contest. The other girls came across as false. They seemed more concerned with material wealth that their character as people. Isabella was exactly the opposite. Her sincerity and honest ways were perfect for me. I wasn't oblivious to her trials, and together we stuck it out and made through the catty nature of the other teenage girls.

_After the cruel pranks that Lauren Mallory pulled, I would never be able to find blond women attractive. Just imagining her platinum hair and ice blue eyes made me shudder._

"By the end of our high school career, we knew that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together. Over Christmas of 1934, I telephoned Isabella's father and was granted his blessing for her hand. Out of courtesy, I also asked Judge Dwyer. The smile that graced his face upon my request still chilled me 12 years later. He didn't look like a caring step father whose daughter had found true love – he looked more like the Cheshire cat finishing a feathered meal. His grin was more reminiscent of victory than pride.

"For reasons I can't recall, Isabella and I decided it would be best if we kept our engagement a secret until graduation. Perhaps it was to avoid further scrutiny, or to distance ourselves from the jealous people in our lives. I had accepted a scholarship to Stanford, and Isabella told me time and again, that as long as she was with me, she was home. She was a smart girl, but we both knew that my education came first, as I would be the breadwinner in the family. I could see it in her eyes however; she longed to attend college as well. Fortunately Isabella was also accepted to Stanford, and Judge Dwyer agreed to help her finance the cost. Isabella was ecstatic, so we knew that we would attend college together so long as it didn't interfere with her duties as a wife. I have a feeling that this also worked to the Judge's benefit. Isabella often alluded to the fact that Judge Dwyer found her presence stifling to his new marriage. In fact, Renee and Philip tried to convince Isabella to live with her father more than once; I think if I hadn't been the in picture, she may have considered it.

So life was very good, and not long after our engagement, Isabella and I even chose to…consummate our relationship." I couldn't help but blush deeply at this admission. Though I was almost thirty years old, that time with Isabella was deeply intimate, and as close to sacred as I had ever experienced. I didn't want to hand out the finer details to a strange barkeep, but I couldn't help but recall them…

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><p>AN: I'm trying to keep the chapters relatively short, so although this is a strange place to end this, I am posting the next chapter ASAP. It was the only reasonable place to break the chapters without having one very long chap.


	3. Chapter 3

Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. No Copyright infringement intended.

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><p>Almost reverently, my mind wandered back to that time…<p>

It was the day before New Year's Eve, 1934. Isabella and I were still on Christmas vacation from school and my parents had accepted yet another invitation to a holiday soiree. Isabella's parents were also otherwise occupied that evening, which was usually the case for Judge Dwyer and his still new bride. Isabella had accepted my marriage proposal and I was eager to continue celebrating with her.

I took my new fiancée to an early picture show, and then afterward invited her to our lakeside home on Puget Sound, north of the city. I knew that neither my parents nor Isabella's would have approved of us spending an evening in a house alone, but they also didn't fully understand the level of our commitment. I was going to marry Isabella, the love of my life.

When we arrived at the home I unloaded a picnic basket from the car, and escorted Isabella to the guest house. While the summer home was grandiose, the guest house was quaint, intimate and romantic. I also knew my love enough to know she would be more comfortable in a smaller, less ostentatious setting.

I unlocked the door to the home and before Isabella knew what was happening, I had set down the basket and lifted her bridal style over the threshold.

"Edward!" she squealed, "What in the world?"

I gave her my signature lob-sided smirk, "Let's call this…practice." And I kissed her softly on the lips before gently setting her down.

I gave Isabella a brief tour, leaving the bedroom for last. I would be lying if I said that I didn't have certain…hopes for that evening, but I didn't dare tell Isabella that. The blush that spread across her face when she looked at the bed was both spectacular and frightening. Never had I so desperately wanted to know what was going on in her brilliant mind. I didn't want to get my hopes up that she was ready to move on in our relationship this way.

Before I said or did something rash, I gently took her hand and led her back to the living room. The house was still quite chilly and Bella shivered, so I draped my coat over her shoulders and started a fire in the hearth.

I arranged some blankets as a cushion right in front of the fireplace, and laid out the food I had brought for us, which included two pieces of cake and champagne, that I wanted to keep as a surprise. Again, doing the opposite of what I expected, I heard Isabella gasp and caught her poking her head into the food basket.

"Champagne! And…chocolate cake! Oh Edward, you do love me!"

"Of course I do, silly girl," swatting her hands away from the cake, "That was supposed to be a surprise."

"It was a surprise, a nice one," She smiled up at me cheekily. I kissed her fully on her mouth.

We ate our meal in mostly companionable silence peppered with light conversation. Soon after, Bella excused herself to the restroom and returned with two bottles of beer. "Look what I found!" she exclaimed.

I looked at her quizzically, "Where did you find those?" My family members were not beer drinkers, although since the end of prohibition, we usually had some stocked up for guests. My father typically purchased foreign beers however, usually Belgian. He enjoyed showing off his added resources when it came to everything – even barley and hops.

"I was walking past the kitchen, and just out of curiosity, I peeked in the ice box. Feel them," Isabella grabbed my wrist and placed my hand against the bottle, "They're still cold from the house being closed up." She handed me a bottle and I looked at it, tilting my head. Ranier Bock Beer…it didn't look like a beer of which my dad would have approved.

From out of nowhere Isabella produced a church key and deftly popped the caps and took a long swallow straight from her bottle. I had never before seen a woman do those things – I had never seen them serve their own drink, nor take a swallow straight from a bottle. I certainly had never seen them handle a church key with such ease. It was startling, and strangely arousing to see Isabella so comfortable with such a common men's practice.

Lowering the bottle she sighed, "Never fear – Bock Beer is here!" she giggled and took another swig. I was soon caught up in her free spirit and took a drink myself.

As I became more comfortable watching Isabella, my arousal steadily grew. I couldn't keep my eyes from her lips as she sucked the head of the bottle. I had intimate knowledge of how her mouth felt on mine, and I longed to know how it felt in other places. When she placed a wet finger in her mouth and licked off the moisture, the kiss that followed was my undoing.

As she leaned forward, I responded to her eagerly and I felt a low rumble escape from my chest as her tongue slipped into my mouth. The whimper that came from the back of her throat instantly made me harder.

Needing to adjust my pants, I climbed to my knees, and without thinking I began to lower Isabella backwards onto the blankets. My hand on the back of her head slipped down and ran softly from her shoulder to her hips. I planted soft opened-mouth kisses from her jaw to her ear and then down the column of her throat. I became aware of how both of our heartbeats had accelerated and our breaths had become shallower.

I slid my hand to the side and cupped her right breast and as I caressed her nipple, I moan when I discovered that it was already firm under my touch. Isabella moved her hips under me, so that my erection pressed solidly into her center, causing us to groan at the same time. I craved the feeling of friction from this place.

Isabella and I had been here before, but no further. I knew from experience with her that it would be difficult to control myself if I continued beyond this point. Raising my head slightly, I almost came to orgasm when I saw her hooded eyes and swollen lips.

"We can stop now, my love. But I don't know if I can stop if we go any further." I forced breaths to slow and blinked a few times to clear my head, with every intention of stopping.

Isabella looked up at me shyly, "I don't want to stop this time…" my eyes widened in surprise, and Isabella took this as a rejection, "…unless you do!" she finished, "I don't want to do anything that you…don't want." She lowered her head to avoid my gaze

Not fully believing my luck, I tilted her chin up so I could look in her eyes, and simply stated, "I want you. All of you, tonight, so long as you are ready." She nodded her head and began to open the buttons of my shirt.

We peeled my shirt from my shoulders and I couldn't help but smirk at the gasp from her mouth as she placed her tiny palms on my chest. Her hot hands caused my muscles to shudder under my skin, and I couldn't restrain a groan when her index fingers slid over my nipples. I captured her mouth in a kiss, cupped her face, and pulled back.

With her eyes locked on mine, I slowly began to release the buttons of her blouse. I had fantasized about this moment hundreds, if not thousands of times over the past year. I thought about it the first time I saw her. I imagined it the first summer day when a trickle of sweat had slid down her neck and under her collar. I fantasized about it for half a night after we went swimming last summer. Never in my life had I been jealous of an inanimate object, but I wanted nothing more than to be the slick fabric of her swimsuit as it hugged her curves.

Peeling off her blouse, the silk camisole underneath shuddered with her panting breaths. I helped her remove it, and was graced with the beauty of her upper torso bare to me but for the lace and silk that held back her heaving breasts.

"I want to make this good for you Isabella. I want to worship you tonight, just as you deserve," I licked my lips and slowly kissed her as my fingers explored the feeling of the soft skin of her shoulders and arms. I placed gentle kisses on her neck, elbow, and wrist and reveled in the feeling of her hands tracing over my chest and abs. My lips crashed into her when she wound her fingers into the hair under my navel and then crawled up to my shoulders and neck only to massage my scalp once more.

At that moment I had two opposing feelings at once. My first feeling was regret, thinking that this should have been my first time, with this woman, in this place. My second feeling was that it had never felt like this before. In a strange way I felt like a virgin; wholly inexperienced with what I was doing, these actions in how they were intertwined so succinctly with my emotions. I had never felt the physical and emotional expressions of love at the same time.

Cupping her face again, I kissed her deeply and passionately. I whimpered when her warm hands left my skin, but I then heard a 'snap, snap', and felt the straps of her brassiere slide past my forearms. I moved slightly to let it fall to the ground.

I broke the kiss to look in her eyes again. "I love you." "I love you." We repeated the oft spoken vow to one another. My lips traced down her neck, collarbone, to the space between her breasts. Her skin was damp and flushed and oh so sweet. I sat up to take in her beauty.

When I was younger, it wasn't uncommon for one of the boys to bring a naughty picture to school of women who were posing half dressed on a couch or in a boudoir of some sort. I never knew from where my peers procured the photographs of women in lingerie with bare backsides and breasts hidden under sheer fabric and heavy jewelry. You could always tell that their faces were heavily painted, and they were postured in positions that exposed the right amount of flesh.

Isabella's beauty in that moment surpassed all those photographs one thousand times over. She lay below me as, a picture of wild abandon. Her face was free of make up, but her lips were plump and dark pink and she was flushed in a delicious color from the apple of her cheeks down to her breasts. She wore no jewelry, save the ring I gave her on a chain around her neck.

In the warm glow of the firelight, Isabella's skin glowed with an ethereal quality. Her hair lain around her in wild curls and tangles, rather than the perfected coif that women spent hours achieving. Her relaxed posture was so beautiful my chest hurt to look at her. I had to let her know, "You are absolutely perfect, my love." I drank in her features, "So beautiful." I sank my head down to place a kiss on each nipple, and she moan and arched her back. Her breasts were soft against my face, and her nipples tasted sweet and both tender and firm beneath my tongue.

My hands and tongue continued to memorize my love's body. I learned what made her whimper, what made her back arch. As I licked between her breasts and rolled her nipples with my thumbs, she suddenly pushed on my shoulders and climbed above me. I briefly wondered where my shy Isabella had gone, but I chose not to tempt fate and fell into the pleasure that her dominant side evoked in me.

Leaning up, she sat astride my legs and ground her core into my erection. My eyes rolled back into my head and I swiveled my hips and I earned a delicious groan from her lips. Soon she refocused on her task, and unclasped her skirt from the side, gathered the fabric and pulled it over her head.

I ran my hands up and down her thighs, moving the silk of her slip up to her waist. The white of her panties and garter snaps came into view and I almost came undone knowing that I would see those – and get to remove them – in the space of a few moments. I slid the slip off her in the same manner she did her skirt, and then motioned for her to stand.

As I stood in front of her, I whispered words to her about her beauty, both inside and out, and tangled my fingers in her hair. I kissed her lips once, twice, and then knelt before her after she stood in front of me.

I snapped off her garters and carefully rolled down the silk stockings, taking care not to hook the delicate fabric. At her feet, I knelt and kissed her ankles, her knees – and then rushed to finish my task as I saw Isabella's legs tremble and felt her steady herself on my shoulders.

I pushed her underwear down to her hip bones and ran my nose over her belly button before I pulled the garment to her knees. Assisting her to lay down, I pulled it from her legs and marveled that she didn't seem ashamed to expose herself to me. I gazed in wonder and lust at her body - pale skin punctuated by rosy pink nipples and a mound of dark curls glistening between her legs.

Standing once again, I began to remove my pants, but Isabella surprised me yet again by rising up to her knees and stilling my hands. She took my belt buckle from me and slowly loosened my pants until they slid to my knees. The vixen then sat up, her face level with my manhood, and looked up at me through her lashes while biting her lower lip and it was my turn to feel weak in the knees. She released the buttons of my boxers and slid them down too.

I couldn't control my smirk as she saw my erection for the first time, gasping as her eyes widened comically. That is until she looked up with worried eyes that said to me, 'how will that fit?' I loosed the fabric from my legs, knelt in front of her and said, "Don't worry Isabella, our bodies are meant for one another, and I want to take my time and be as gentle as I can…that is, if you still want to?"

Moments later she nodded her head and a smile crept on her face. Lying beside her, I ran the back of my fingers from her cheekbone down to her shoulder, breast, ribs and back again. I made the same pass over and over, accenting my touch with open mouthed kisses to her neck, chest, shoulders and temple all the while whispering of my undying love and the perfection I found in her body.

On the last pass, I rested my hand on her stomach and gazed at her. "I would like to touch you, may I?" Isabella drew in a sharp breath and nodded.

I pressed my lips to hers, and her mouth parted for me. I slipped my tongue into her mouth as my fingers dipped below to feel her wetness. We moaned simultaneously, and I nipped at her lips and told her how good she felt there, how I loved the feel and the scent of her body, and how I wanted to use my body to give her pleasure.

I dipped my fingers into her fluids and enjoyed her whimpers as I circled her entrance. I brought my wet fingers up to her bundle of nerves, circling it slowly as Isabella gasped, eyes wide and then moaned while her legs fell further apart. I had never heard a more erotic sound in my life, and I my vision clouded with lust as I took in Isabella's slack-jawed expression.

Circling tighter and faster, I replaced my fingers with my thumb and dipped my first finger into her. Heaven. The tight heat of her body was making me crazy with anticipation of the other places in which I would experience that part of her body. Sliding and curling my finger, my thumb pressed into her and Isabella came with a strangled cry that meshed both words of profanity and deity alike with my own name. I gently helped her come down, trying to control my own shaking as I moved my lips over her jaw and mouth.

With a deep sigh, Isabella turned her smile toward me and appeared lulled and giddy. I thought that she had been sated and I considered ending her experiencing here, believing firmly that we had the rest of our lives together to fully consummate our love. To my surprise, Isabella ran her hand down my stomach and grabbed my erection, and I couldn't control the loud moan that escaped me, followed by a feral sounding grunt.

"I love hearing you make those sounds," she whispered. Was it the same for her? Did she enjoy hearing my pleasure as much as I did her? I could only hope.

"I want…to feel you…" she mumbled, suddenly looking shy, "I mean…inside me. I want you. Now, please?" Oh, if she only knew, she wouldn't resort to begging.

I sat in front of Isabella, and slowly parted her knees. I felt breathless as I looked at her sex, swollen and dark pink from her previous arousal. I became mesmerized by the firm look of her thighs, anticipating how they would feel as they wrapped around my hips.

When I lowered myself over her body, her hands slid up my biceps and I felt her breath on my face. I tucked my knees under hers and slowly slid into her.

The tight heat was overwhelming, and I trembled when controlling my hips as she surrounded me. I slid in an inch, and then another, all the while watching her face. I didn't want to hurt her, but I so badly wanted to be her first and only. Slowly, inch by inch I slid in until I felt her barrier.

"This part is painful, my love, but for a moment. Isabella's wide eyes gave me silent permission and she nodded, and I pushed my way through.

I almost pulled out entirely when pain flash across her face, but in the next moment I felt her heels on my backside keeping me in place. "Just…give me a moment," she implored, "I want this."

Waiting for her in that moment, in that way was the most exquisite torture I could have imagined, and then I felt her body relax, I began to move slowly. Never had I felt anything so intense.

I moved with her in long, slow strokes and her blank face began to relax and her eyes again became heavy from pleasure and lust. The hisses I heard in the beginning faded away and she let go of a deep throaty moan and I almost came undone.

It was more than how she felt inside – which was fantastic anyway. It was the way the curve of her shoulder cradled my face, and feeling of her breasts rubbed against my chest and how her legs wrapped around me in exactly the right way. It was how my scent and hers mingled together to create the most beautiful and alluring smell in the world that excited and relaxed me at the same time. It was how we moved together like one mind, and then her orgasm incited my own and we succumbed to our desires.

Afterward we lay together by the fire, reaffirming each other with whispers and light kisses and gentle touches, all the while creating a dream for the future.

It was beyond perfection. It was intense and it was home and I wanted nothing more than to do it over and over and over again for the rest of my life.

It was the only time it would happen.


	4. Chapter 4

Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight and all related characters. No copyright infringement intended.

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><p>The deep discordant chime of empty beer bottles tapping against one another returned me from my beautiful, painful memory to continue my tale to Liam.<p>

After we were…together, naturally it was difficult for two young people to find enough alone time. Five weeks past and all we had found time for were kisses and touches and innuendos that we were eager to be together again in that way. Each time we were interrupted by a parent or one of the staff in our homes. I was secretly under the suspicion that at least at my home mother was assigning one of the maids, our butler or even our mechanic to covertly act as chaperones. There was just too many times that the very room we were in required a thorough dusting or a door knob needed to be repaired.

However, as much as I was a devoted son, I was also an amorous adolescent and I began scheming on ways to get Isabella alone. Finally my chance arrived on a Saturday evening in February, but the meeting didn't go at all as planned.

I had organized another picnic for Isabella and I, and it was my intention to bring her back to the guest house at the summer home. As Geraldine the head cook helped me prepare a basket, my mother requested that I meet with her and father in his study.

Upon entering the study, I could see that something was wrong. My mother was wringing her hands. Her eyes were clouded with a range of emotions that I couldn't quite decipher, as they seemed to swing from anger, shame, anxiety and resolve. She motioned for me to sit, and I took a seat on the couch while my father and mother sat in front of me in the two wing back chairs which were normally situated in front of the fire.

It was my father who spoke first. "Edward, we called you in here today because we have been asked that you offer some assistance to Judge Dwyer and his wife."

"Assistance? What could I offer the Judge?" I had intended on following in my own father's footsteps and entering the medical field. In confusion, I motioned for him to continue and paid earnest attention.

My father sighed, and seemed to stall, and it was my mother who carried on, "This is assistance of a deeply…personal nature. We…Edward we don't know…I don't know how to ask this of you, so I request that you hold your thoughts until I am finished speaking. Can you do that?" I nodded my assent and mother continued.

"Well, as you know, Isabella has had a very hard time integrating into life in Seattle since she has arrived." I wanted to interrupt and correct her that it was Isabella's _mother_ that had difficulty integrating, and that Isabella was handling herself quite gracefully, but I did as she asked and let my mother explain.

"What you may not know…is that Isabella isn't handling it as well as she is letting people on. She has apparently been kept a very graceful and stoic front, but Judge Dwyer and Renee had recently found that she…she has started to partake in activities that do not befit a young woman in her position as a means of coping for her habits. Naturally, we are all very concerned for Isabella and only want the best for her."

My head was swimming and I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My Isabella? "No," was all I could answer. I knew her better than anyone. I knew her thoughts and feelings and desired better than anyone – even her own mother, and certainly far better than Judge Dwyer. "This is a mistake, Isabella…she's been coping well. We talk about this all the time; how she is handling the negative attention she receives…how _we _handle it together. What you are saying doesn't make sense."

Mother gazed at me sympathetically and moved to sit with me on the couch. "We know you care deeply for Isabella, you may even think you love her-"

There is no _thinking, _mother. I _know_ I love her."

"Very well, dear, which is all the more reason we need you to help. Judge Dwyer and Renee have been…discreet about Isabella's problems, but they have assured me that they have found a place for her in a very prestigious finishing school. They would like Isabella to attend, but she is being…difficult about the proposal. She is refusing to leave because of her relationship with you."

"Mother, it's just-" I paused and pulled my hand through my hair roughly, I wanted to tell her of the engagement, but Isabella and I had agreed to reveal it together at a later date. I planted my elbows on my knees and stared at the ground. I should keep it to myself, but my mother had to understand just how serious I was about Isabella. "I proposed to her mother. We are engaged. I am going to marry her; I can't help you send her away!"

I felt my mother stiffen and inhale sharply beside me, and I heard my father rise swiftly from his chair and pace the room.

"Liz," he implored to me my mother, there must –"

"-No. I'm sorry Edward, but this is not our decision. You may have proposed, but she is only 17 and she is not your wife. Your engagement hasn't been announced. It isn't even official until we publish the bans."

I sighed deeply, "I'm not promising you anything. But I am curious, what exactly are you asking of me?"

My mother clasped my hands in hers and leaned into me, "We are asking you to make a decision that will help Isabella – your future wife – to survive in our world easier. She's struggling. She wasn't born into the status she now carried with her. For you, and the other young men and women you school with, it is second nature. Isabella has no tools. Would you like her to marry you, only to resent you in ten years? It could happen Edward. Being the wife of a man such as your father is a huge responsibility and takes a great deal of strength and a certain type of education. Isabella has been thrown into this life with no tools. It is she that will suffer.

"You love her, Edward. It's perfect that you are engaged, actually. Isabella won't be gone long, a year at the most. Judge Dwyer She could be back before the beginning of next school year if everything works out. We are looking to you to be a man, take responsibility for your fiancée and help her become the woman she is meant to be. We need this from you. _Isabella _needs this from you. Can you do this? Do you love her enough to make sure she gets what she needs, even if you are separated?"

I understood what my mother was saying. My father was being abnormally quiet during this conversation, but I took his silence as support for mother. Could I do this? Could I let Isabella leave for a few months, so that she could come back and we could marry, and she could accept the responsibilities of a society woman and wife?

I had never before considered the implications of Isabella's move from one life to the other. She grew up in a small town, the daughter of a lumber worker who, like many men, lost his livelihood at the end of the last decade. I knew that life was difficult for her family in the last four years, but Isabella had never said that she was suffering now.

Something felt off. I was almost certain that Isabella spoke with me more than anyone else – certainly more than she did to Judge Dwyer. Although she expressed gratitude for the material wealth to which she now had access, she often painted the home she left as being sparse, but full of love. She missed her father dearly, and often worried for him.

Perhaps there was truth to what my mother was telling me. She missed the love she received in her former life. No other woman I knew acknowledged their gratitude for simple things like spices and milk and bread, not to mention fine dresses and even motorcars the way that Isabella did. I guessed that this was problematic. Did others see her as weak? Would she make poor decisions among society women? I didn't want her to fail, I wanted everyone to see the strong, resilient Isabella that I knew and loved. I also didn't know enough about women's responsibilities to judge whether Isabella was capable of taking upon the task of running a household. Could she manage staff? Would she be able to chair meetings and work for causes? I just didn't know. I could only trust my mother's judgment, and she seemed to think that Isabella deserved special training to become my wife.

Looking at my mother intently, I could only answer her with the conclusion that I had come up with. "I trust you, mother. I trust you with my happiness and hers. If Isabella needs to do this, than I shall help. You know better than I."

My mom smiled warmly, and clasped her hands on either side of my cheek, "It will all work out, Edward. You'll see."

And so between the three of us, we came up with a plan for me to convince Isabella to postpone our engagement, convince her to attend Volterra Women's Finishing Academy and break both our hearts.

When met with Isabella that night, I had planned on taking her to the guest house once more, but decided against it. I thought it better we stay close to her home, so instead I asked her to go for a stroll over the grounds of the Dwyer Mansion. My emotions were on edge, and the only way I could stay composed was to place a blank mask over my face and keep my voice as even and monotone as possible.

It was too easy. I was expecting her to fight at first, to fight for _us, _but it was almost like she wanted to go. No, that's not true. She said she didn't, and tears stained her cheeks and she shuddered. She said that she would go if she had to, but she wanted me to come with her. When she asked me that, I could only remember my mother's words in my ear,

_She needs this time alone Edward. She cannot act as a proper wife if she only learns to cling to your side._

So I said the words that sealed our fate, "I don't want to go with you."

I will never forget the look on her face as I gazed at her questioning face. Just above a whisper she asked, "You…you don't want me?"

I could have done many things at that moment. I could have corrected her, like I wanted to, and told her she misunderstood. I could have told her that I would always, _always _want her until the end of time. I could have listened to my heart and fallen to my knees and begged her to run away with me.

But I was a man, and I was taught to listen to my head, and that following one's feelings and heart was for women and fools.

So I looked back at her and confirmed the darkest of blasphemies, "No, Isabella, I don't want you. Not like this. You aren't…we can't marry like this. You don't belong in my world, not like this. You're...you're not good for me like this."

I wanted to die a thousand deaths for the expression that crossed over her face. She wasn't devastated, or angry, or confused. She looked at me with a blank expression; she was resigned. All the will she had in her to fight for us in that moment left when I told her I didn't want her. She looked hopeless.

"You don't want me." she stated in a dead tone. My hands trembled as they gripped Isabella's shoulders, perhaps a little too tightly. I didn't want to let her go. I couldn't let her go…I had to let her go.

My heart shattered and left a gaping hole in my chest, my throat constricted and I wasn't able to voice to her all the reassurances in my head. 'You'll be back within a year…we'll be stronger after this…I want you to be happy in my world…I don't deserve you…I'm afraid you'll resent me if I make you stay…'

She looked up at me one last time, her big brown eyes shining as tears streamed down her cheeks. Several times she looked as though she was about to say something, but each time she stopped herself by squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head quickly.I leaned close and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead, allowing myself the liberty of inhaling her scent and committing it to memory one last time.

I did everything my heart was telling me not to do. I wanted nothing more than to sweep her up in my arms, tell her I lied and why I did it, and ask her to forgive me. Instead I walked out of the yard, started my car and once I was a safe distance from her home, I allowed myself to fall apart.


	5. Chapter 5

S. Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement intended.

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><p>I looked into the bottom of my fifth glass of scotch after I finished my tale. I motioned Liam for another, but he put up his hand. Despite the drinks, I felt little more than a bit warm and dizzy. Years of finding solace in liquor had allowed me to build up a formidable tolerance.<p>

"Sorry son, but it's just a few minutes to close." I looked up to find the bar empty and cleaned, with all the chairs stacked save the lone stool where I sat. "So tell me," Liam continued, "Did she ever forgive you?"

I shook my head and Liam continued, "I wish I could say I felt sorry for you, but sending your fiancée away? I gotta say –"

"She died." My voice cracked as I cut him off before he could continue moralizing for me. "Trust me, I learned. The hard way. I learned my lesson in a way that I can never be forgiven, or make up for my sins."

Liam nodded his head and looked at me apologetically, "I'm sorry to hear that. She sounded like a great gal."

"She was the best. I never met anyone like her."

I was told by my mother that before Isabella left that she requested to suspend correspondence from anyone in Seattle until her training was complete. This didn't sound like the Isabella I knew, but I thought perhaps this was a consequence of me essentially breaking our engagement and telling her to leave. No matter, I was convinced I would wait for her and make amends as soon as she came back to the city.

Months passed. I hardly remembered my high school graduation ceremony as I could only think of the one person I wanted to see there. I turned down parties time and time again until eventually I went to one and discovered that the numb feeling from being in a drunken stupor was the only thing that provided me from a temporary reprieve of my emotions.

I sulked. I drank. I waited.

In July, my mother started hosting Saturday mother-daughter teas at her house, and although her intentions didn't escape me, I didn't care enough to fight her or to fully engage with the ladies present. I managed to thwart the advances of several young ladies, including Lauren Mallory on several occasions.

The lights turned off in Liam's bar, and I broke from my reverie once again and finally took that as my cue to leave. Walking out into the crisp spring air, my head cleared and I made it back to my hotel room without incident and promptly fell into a restless slumber, haunted by the same images as the last twelve years – large brown eyes with tears cascading down ivory and rose colored cheeks, soft small hands running down my chest and the telegram received on September 4th, 1935.

All my hopes and dreams came crashing down on that day, when we were shown the telegram from a teary Renee Dwyer, regretting to inform her that a train that Isabella had boarded was in a terrible crash outside of New York City.

Like many others, her body was never found. So many passengers were so badly burned in an explosion that took place that only a few bodies were recognizable, and even fewer were identified through dental records, if they were available.

Just a few months later, Philip and Renee Dwyer relocated to Virginia after he was nominated and appointed to the U.S. Supreme Court. We never heard from them again.

I floated mindlessly through time and space after that. College, med school and residencies were a blur. I surely would have sunk had I not been kept afloat by hard liquor and an almost obsessive relationship with my studies. Anything to keep my mind from wandering to what could have been, and what part I had in the death of the only woman I would love.

After medical school I found myself at a crossroads. I didn't have the endless hours of studying or residency to occupy my mind, and my mother became more insistent that marrying would fall next in the natural order of becoming a full-fledged man. Between the emptiness in my life and the sound of her voice directing me to find an object for my affections, I found myself losing my grip on sanity.

So I joined the war, which was always in need of qualified doctors.

It 1943, I arrived in Europe with the same animosity for my existence that I had eight years earlier, and while I couldn't bear to actively end my own life, I never shrank away from dangerous situations. I decided that if I could save someone's life and then take my own, then we would both win. The man I would save most likely had a true love at home, and I would meet my maker and with luck, be reunited with Isabella in the great beyond.

I wouldn't be so lucky.

I returned to the United States to the open arms of my mother who promptly slapped me for being "so stupid" to put myself in harm's way, and then hugged my fiercely for being to brave and returning home to her. My father silently handed me a cigar and with a pat on my shoulder, welcomed me home.

Not long after my return, I realized that I couldn't stay in Seattle. Even after more than ten years her memory haunted me on every street and around each corner. I made the decision to relocate to New York City, focusing on surgery. My father wanted to move with me, but my mother refused to leave her home in Washington. While she missed me dearly, she simply stated that their lives, their resources and their social standing were too tightly bound with that city.

Specializing in surgery after I came home gave me another distraction from the emptiness in my life. It wasn't long before I was promoted to Chief Surgeon at Lenox Hill Hospital. Due to a combination of hard work and having met many of the staff who were sent to England during the war, I was one of the youngest Chief Surgeons in the country. At 30, I should have been proud, I should have been happy. It was difficult to feel that way though. However, in keeping with how my parents taught me to comport myself, I did the next best thing. I faked happiness until I believed it.

I managed to fake it by falling in love with my lifestyle. I enjoyed the black tie affairs that happened several times a month, and I felt a warm sense of satisfaction in being able to contribute large sums to charity. I purchased fine art, I owned a beautiful penthouse apartment near Central Park, and I had a lovely lady on my arms at almost all times in public.

The media loved me. With my attractive face, as well as my long muscled frame, I became popular with women and photographers alike. There was not a weekend that passed in which my whereabouts were not mentioned in the Society pages of the Times.

It was through my public life and social mingling that I met Tanya. Fierce, determined, unbelievable wealthy, it was easy to be with her because she was everything that Isabella wasn't. Golden red hair and bright blue eyes, a curvaceous yet toned body – she was Aphrodite incarnate. Tanya never made excuses for who she was, because she was very comfortable having grown up in one of the most prestigious families in the country. She never made mistakes in public, and her mother certainly never strayed from being anything but the ideal role model of how to be wealthy, beautiful, graceful and demure.

When my mother discovered that Tanya and I were dating, she was over the moon, and promptly held a soiree at her home to introduce her future daughter-in-law - who she had neither met, nor was present at the party.

With pressure from my mother and a need to feel like I was moving forward, I took the next natural step. I arranged a private appointment at Tiffany's and purchased a ring, which I had every intention of presenting to Tanya and requesting her hand – until I had to attend a funeral.

So that was how I found myself shuffling my way out of a bar in Bennington Vermont on a cold April night. I made it back to my hotel suite and swiftly fell in into the dreamless slumber that only sleep could provide.

I woke up in the late morning with sunlight blinding me through the expanse of windows that faced east. Stumbling through the suite, I swiftly shut the curtains and made my way back to bed, but the memories I conjured last night were all too sharp in the morning. I wasn't sure if I wanted to fall asleep, even if I was able. Doing so would mean I would have to face the nightmares featuring the Pandora's Box of memories from my love and I.

I glanced at my watch and noted that at 11am Eastern Time, my father and mother would be enjoying their Sunday breakfast at this very moment. I picked up the phone in my room and after some time, the operator had connected me with my childhood home in Seattle Washington.

After a quick update as to my whereabouts, my parents offer up their sympathies to myself and the family of my late comrade. My mother didn't have to tell me that in less than a week, the family of Chelsea Afton will receive a lovely bouquet from Dr. and Mrs. Masen of Seattle Washington. If my mother is anything if not considerate and polite.

My father also took the opportunity to remind me that a former schoolmate of his, Dr. Carlisle Cullen had an obstetrics practice just outside of Bennington. Apparently he and Dr. Cullen were also mates on Stanford's rowing team. He asked that I drop into visit him before I returned to the city, to which I agreed. While I wasn't in the mood for socializing, I recalled seeing a photo sitting in my father's study that featured his rowing team, and I remembered that the handsome blond-haired man on the far left was Dr. Cullen. During my high school days, my father regaled me with many stories of his antics in college, and I almost felt like I knew Dr. Cullen for all the times that his named has been mentioned. My father always regarded him as brilliant, compassionate, tenacious, if not a bit too sensitive for the field of medicine. My father managed to stay in touch but had not had a chance to visit him since he relocated to Vermont almost 14 years ago.

Before long, I was headed through the winding roads with an address and directions clutched in my hand. At first it seemed as though there were nothing but farms, but after a while I noted that there were private lanes that were sometimes obscured by the overgrowth of the forest. I realized I had been searching for an entrance that was a bit more ostentatious than the ones I had seen, so I forced myself to slow down and read each mailbox with care.

Soon I came across a mailbox marked "Cullen, Glendale". Hoping that this was the correct place, I veered onto the bumpy lane and headed into the bush and up a steep hill.

Finally I arrived at a large Victorian home, with a circular driveway set amongst a well-kept lawn in a clearing. The house looked warm and inviting, although upon closer inspection it was clear that the otherwise cared for building had some areas of disrepair. A few of the spindles on the porch railing had broken, and the house appeared to be in need of a fresh coat of white paint.

After knocking on the black painted door, I was greeted by a petite woman who was no more than five feet tall. She had large inquisitive eyes, the same color as yesterday's April sky and though she seemed young – her ringlets made her look like a raven-haired Shirley Temple - the engagement ring on her finger indicated she was older than she appeared.

"You must be Dr. Masen," She held out her hand in greeting. "I'm Alice, pleased to meet you." Her voice was small and clear and chipper.

I took her hand gracefully, and questioned, "Are you a relative?" I recalled my father telling me that Dr. and Mrs. Cullen were unable to have children.

"I'm their daughter," She smiled sweetly. She pursed her lips and tilted her head in response to my questioning expression, "Dr. and Mrs. Cullen adopted me about seven years ago."

I nodded and confirmed my pleasure in meeting her while she took my coat and hat, "My parents are in the parlor. We will begin lunch shortly."

I followed the woman-child to the parlor, and met a familiar face. Dr. Cullen had aged gracefully. . With a few more wrinkles around his eyes and his presumably blond hair now grayed, he still stood tall and proud. He shook my hand enthusiastically.

"Edward!" Dr. Cullen crowed, "So good of you to come by. Your father called and said you were in the neighborhood and planning to visit."

"Yes, well I wish I were in Vermont for better circumstances. A fellow comrade of mine was buried yesterday, Dr. Cullen."

"Please, call me Carlisle," He eyed me seriously, "I'm very sorry to hear that. It's always sad to know that we lost a man who fought for our country."

I turned to the slight woman on his left. Introduced as Esme, she was approximately the same age as her husband and she had also aged beautifully. With honey colored hair and sparkling hazel eyes, it wasn't hard to determine that she was still enthusiastic about life. Her hair was cut short in a modern style and curled to frame her face in shiny locks. She all appeared to be a 'down to earth' and 'classic grace' all rolled into one maternal, yet vibrant woman.

Alice appeared at my side and announced that lunch would be served momentarily. She offered me a choice of coffee or tea, and I accepted the latter gracefully. Before lunch was served, I was able to chat with Dr. Cullen about my work as Chief Surgeon, as well as my years overseas. I was also able to ask him about the practice at his private clinic, as well as the mystery of the word 'Glendale' on the mailbox.

"Oh yes, of course you would have passed that on your way up. Glendale is the home we run," Carlisle answered while placing his arm over Esme's shoulders.

"Home?" I questioned, "I was under the impression that you ran a private clinic, pardon me." What kind of home would an obstetrician run?

"A Mother's Home, Edward," Esme smiled and continued cautiously, "I don't know what your parents have told you, but Carlisle and I, we….well, we were not able to have children," She sat wringing a linen handkerchief in her lap, "We considered adoption, and when a private arrangement fell through, someone suggested we look at the possibilities available through a maternity home, so we thought we'd give it a try." Esme's eyes narrowed in memory.

"We looked into a few of them, and with assistance from a colleague, I was granted behind the scenes access to see what they were like. I was absolutely appalled by the conditions," Carlisle shook his head, " Often labeled 'Finishing Schools', they housed young women - some of them no more than girls – who were pregnant and being used as glorified slave labor. Most of them were a front for another business, often doing laundry or being sent out as unpaid servants to work in private residences. Through research and a little bit of digging as a doctor, it only got worse in how the young girls were forced to give up their own children without their own feelings being considered - "

I had seen and heard a lot in my day, so it was unusual that I had bile rise to my throat at the thought of pregnant women being exploited as such. For god sakes, I had stitched up men who were practically torn apart! I dealt with soldiers who woke up vomiting from their memories that came to haunt them at night. Yet, I when heard about women being forced to do laundry I felt like I was going to be sick. What was happening to me?

"Edward, are you OK?" Carlisle questioned.

"Fine, I'm fine."

Esme sat near my chair and touched my arm and consoled me, "Edward, my apologies. I should have known that you are your mother's son, so compassionate. I want you to know though, that we worked hard in making a good place for our girls. They are healthy, rested, and respected. That was the point of our story."

I nodded dumbly. Although I was thankful for what they were accomplishing, I couldn't help the confusion that I was experiencing. I took a deep breath. Just as I was about to relieve them of their guilt, young Alice danced through the parlor doors, announcing lunch.

I followed Carlisle and Esme through the doors to the parlor, a beautiful music room with various hanging plants, into a sparsely decorated, intimate dining room set for five.

"Have you another guest?" I motioned to the plate

"Oh yes! I forgot to tell you, my fiancé Jay will be joining us. He is running a bit late, he'll be here anytime." Alice bounced on her toes with the prospect of seeing her own fiancé.

Esme added helpfully, "Jay is completing his graduate degree in History. Such a smart boy."

Esme and Alice retreated to the kitchen to collect the serving bowls, and Carlisle looked at me keenly, "Son, I saw how you looked when we spoke of the mother's homes. Are you alright?"

Was I alright? The answer would really be no, but for the sake of the visit, I put on a brave face. "I'm fine sir, really. I…I once knew of a girl who was sent away, not under those circumstances mind you, but…well, I'm just glad to know that the young women you care for are in good hands." Truly, I hoped the last few months of Isabella's life had been good ones. That idea was the only thing that had kept me from completely losing it. If I found out otherwise, that if something had happened to Isabella…I couldn't imagine how I would feel or act.

"Were you close with her?" Carlisle prodded. That was a loaded question. He wanted to know if I was a father who had abandoned a pregnant woman and his unborn child.

"Yes, but not like you think. We dated." _We were madly in love, _I thought to myself. "She left to attend a prestigious academy, and was killed in a train accident not far from New York City.

"Ahh," He concluded, as though he knew my story. A strange look passed across his face, but was then covered with a blank, professional mask.

Just then, the front door opened and closed, and Alice scampered out of the kitchen. She quickly placed a large pot of stew on the table and ran off, presumably to meet her fiancé. Not a moment later, she returned, "Dr. Masen, I'd like to introduce you to my fiancé, Jay. Jay, this is a friend of our family, Dr. Ma-"

"Edward?" I turned around and looked disbelievingly at the man in front of me.

"Lt. Whitlock!" I moved forward to shake his hand and he quickly pulled me into a tight hug. "Jasper Whitlock, I...I had no idea!"

I turned around to our gaping audience to explain, but Jasper beat me to it, "Alice, Carlisle, Esme, _I'd _like to introduce _you,_ to Dr. Edward Masen, the man who saved my right leg."

Jasper had been a patient at the hospital while we were in France. He was with us after he had multiple compound fractures in his leg that led to an infection. I completed several surgeries on him while he was there, as he was not yet stable enough to fly home. I tried hard to maintain a distance from my patients as I didn't want to risk becoming attached to people whose futures were uncertain, but there was something calming and reassuring about Lt. Whitlock that drew me in. We spent many a night playing gin rummy while he told stories of his home in Texas.

I looked over to Alice, whose eyes were brimming with tears. Before I could blink, she had her tiny arms wrapped around me and her face was buried in my neck. I heard muffled 'thank yous' coming from her as her tears dripped onto the lapel of my jacket. I cautiously embraced her, and then we all sat to eat with feelings of friendship and reunion in the air.

Dinner was simple but tasty with excellent company. I learned that Jasper had his sights set on teaching. His leg had healed, but not well enough to consider any sort of strenuous physical labor, and he enjoyed learning about and passing on ideas about history. Not surprisingly, his focus was on the American military. His folks came from a long line of ancestors who were involved in the army and the marines.

Carlisle and Esme were wonderful hosts, and I could tell from their demeanor that they were committed to their work and were very compassionate people. It was also clear by looking at their clean but humble home, that they were not in this business for the huge pay checks at the end of the day. I tried very hard for the rest of the evening to put away any comparisons I held to my own lifestyle so that I could listen to their work in the Mother' Home.

Throughout our conversations I could feel Carlisle scrutinizing me intently. After dinner, he took me aside and gave me a tour of his home, finishing in his study.

The furniture in the room, like the rest of the house was understated and practical. While it was obvious that the Cullens took good care of their possessions, they were not worldly by any means. In fact, many of the pieces appeared to be made out of solid, simple construction with minimal decoration or fine woodwork. A few pieces, such as the glass cabinet that sat in the corner of the office appeared to be bona fide antiques and well-maintained, while others like the desk and the book shelves were made of solid, plain hardwoods that had been carefully rubbed with lemon oil. Carlisle took a seat behind the desk, and I pulled up a wooden chair in front.

"Edward," he began, "I can be sure that if you are as half as good as your father, then you are nothing less than a remarkable physician."

"Thank you sir, my father has always been my inspiration." I replied as vaguely as I could, not knowing where this conversation was headed.

"Esme and I are very happy with our work here, although our dream, well, it manifested in a way that we hadn't anticipated. You are aware that Alice is adopted?" I nodded, and Carlisle continued, "Alice was the daughter of one of our patients. When her mother Ruth became ill, she sent Alice back here on a train with a suitcase and a letter, asking the home to take care of her. Needless to say we were surprised. We welcomed her into our home of course, and one of the girls from Glendale took her under her wing. Before long, she found her way into our hearts. We adopted her a year later."

It became apparent that Dr. and Mrs. Cullen were running something far more complex than an inpatient clinic for impregnated girls. Was this a charity he was running? While it seemed honest of him to care for the new mothers as well, I wasn't sure it was his job to take on all of society's burdens.

"Due to the unique set up we have here, demands for medical care have increased significantly." Carlisle reached into a drawer of his desk and motioned for me to stand beside him to view a drawer thick with files. "As it stands, I am acting as the primary doctor for all the patients as well as former patients and their children. I'm no spring chicken, Edward. I've been looking to hire someone to assist me, but Glendale is my life's work, and I guess you could say I'm a little nervous to work with just anyone.

"We are looking for someone with the kind of compassion you displayed today in the parlor. We need someone who can work with our mothers and not judge them. Many of the women say that they are judged as though they wear a scarlet letter, and are nervous that their children will be treated differently because they are bastards. We need someone who can treat them compassionately."

Before I could speak, he raised his hand, "Now, now Edward, don't think I'm delusional. I know better than to ask the Chief Surgeon of Lenox Hill to work as a backwoods family physician. I'm old, but I'm not stupid," Carlisle chuckled, "But I'm sure you see your fair share of doctors completing their residencies, so all I ask is that if you see someone who fits the bill, please, don't hesitate to send them my way."

After viewing Carlisle and Esme's humble lifestyle, I would be lying if I said I wasn't hesitant to send any doctor here. We didn't spend seven years in school to live like paupers! However, to appease my father's old friend, I nodded and extended my hand, and we silently shook in agreement. My silent agreement being that if I ever met a compassionate resident who wanted to work in the middle of nowhere for a pittance, I would refer him to Dr. Cullen.

"Excellent," Carlisle concluded. "Listen, we're having a small dinner party here in a week's time, to support Glendale. Quite a few of New York and Boston's elite, especially those who were once connected to the suffragettes and women's leagues have heard about our work and are eager to support a facility that treats the young women respectably, and also provides quality medical care. It's next Saturday, and I would love it if you could come. I can give you more details before you leave." Carlisle gave me a hopeful look and a firm pat on my shoulder before we left the room.

Upon exiting Carlisle's study, I found Alice and Esme in a heated discussion over the upcoming dinner party.

"Mother, you can't handle it on your own. Call the restaurant on Main Street, I am sure they can accommodate with appetizers."

"Nonsense Alice, I can get a few of the girls to help, they won't mind. I'll pay them a fair wage, and I'll still save money."

"I guess that could work. As long as Ms. Black doesn't help. She should be guest, what with the work she does and some of the money going toward supplies."

"Oh Alice, you know how she is. She'll be elbow deep in the kitchen regardless of what fancy dress you manage to get her into." Alice pouted at this thought.

My curiosity about the setup of this home/farm got the better of me, what with a mention of a Ms. Black who received supplies. "Who's Ms. Black?" I questioned.

Alice piped up, "Ms. Black is our teacher, of sorts. She helps some of the girls finish high school, she teaches typing. Father has found that many of his patients end up estranged from their families and require jobs. Ms. Black has been helpful with that, especially since the war ended and factory jobs for women are so scarce. She also owns the farm that we co-operate with, it's sort of a…joint venture, you could say."

"Alice," Esme chided, "That woman is like a big sister to you, you are allowed to use her first name."

"I know mother, but it feels strange to refer to her by her first name when speaking of her job. I mean no disrespect to Bell."

"Bell?" I queried, It sounded like such a strange name for a woman.

"Her given name is Marie," offered Alice. She took on a faraway look before she continued, "Her husband gave her the nickname Bells, and it just stuck. Some call her Bells, or Bell. Almost no one calls her by her true name, and for some reason she seems to like it that way."

"Gather round everyone!" Carlisle walked in, effectively ending the conversation about Mrs. Black, dinner parties, and appetizers, "You probably don't know this, but Edward here is a talented musician, and we have a lovely piano that is sorely underused."

Jasper must have sensed my sudden apprehension in being thrust into the spotlight, "I play guitar, are you up for a duet?"

After a few duets with Jasper in which the Cullens sang along, I ventured into a couple of solo pieces. I hadn't had the motivation to play in years, and it felt good to play again. Everything felt good here with this family, and I realized that although I had colleagues and acquaintances in New York, I didn't have very many friends, and no family of which to speak.

After our impromptu sing-along, I bid the Cullen family and Lt. Whitlock good night and drove toward the hotel. I left for New York City the next day, away from the humble warm surroundings and into the lavish life I had waiting for me.

I knew I would return next weekend for the dinner, if only to bask in the warmth of this family once more.

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><p>So...who's Ms. Black? What's her story? How do you think she managed to find Dr. and Mrs. Cullen?<p>

Please review!


	6. Chapter 6

Twilight belongs to S. Meyer

Many thanks to blk3660 for pre-reading. All mistakes are my own.

Thanks so much to those have reviewed, including blk3660, Kgunter34, miawmiaw and Bunch2009

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><p>When I got back to New York, the doorman at my building had two messages waiting for me. One was from Royce King, who was a colleague's brother. His law firm was a few buildings down from Lenox Hill Hospital, and while he was mostly annoying, he was always up for a drink which I found to be an excellent way to divert my attention from more depressing topics.<p>

The second message was from I left for Vermont the engagement ring was burning a hole in my pocket, but what with the funeral and my thoughts turning to Isabella, I wasn't in a state in which I could think of asking another woman for her hand.

I had come to terms with the fact that I wasn't in love Tanya, and she knew this. She came from a long line of calculating women, and was raised to believe that marriage was more of a politically strategic move than one of loving and cherishing. I, on the other hand fully believed in true love, but I had long since given up hope in fate. I knew far too well that our actions dictated our futures, and one simple move had taken my only love from me. I couldn't imagine loving anyone like I had Isabella, so I made the decision to marry for other reasons.

Tanya's parents were wary of me at first. I was new in town, and my family was more established in the Midwest and Seattle. They quickly warmed to me however, once I earned the title of Chief Surgeon and they found out they were acquaintances of my Aunt Martha in Chicago. Aunt Martha's husband Spencer was originally from New York and his mother was a Rockefeller. Their son Peter also completed business in New York from time to time, so he was known among socialites here as well. After discussing our degrees of separation her father softened toward me and her mother gave Tanya the OK to continue seeing me.

Tanya and I became acquainted through Royce, after we met her at a charity event benefiting war orphans in Europe. Tanya's older sister Irina had briefly dated Mr. King, so they were associated through her. While Royce went out of his way to get to know Miss Tanya Denali, she appeared to have more interest in me and we began seeing each other soon after. Our relationship seemed to progress in a standard way, and we were featured more than once together in the society pages. The last two times our names were attached, the writers were speculating when we would be announcing our engagement. Tanya and I had already discussed this next step in our relationship several times.

After freshening up from my travels I returned the message from Royce, and found out that he was relocating to Rochester, New York. Royce knew that I was always up for a drinking buddy, so he was eager to introduce me to the new lawyer who would be replacing him at his firm. We agreed to Tuesday evening for drinks.

When Tuesday came around, we met at the little piano bar in the Hotel Elysée in midtown. I arrived shortly after 8pm, and took a seat waiting for Royce and his new colleague. I wasn't sad to see Royce go. His presence ensured I wasn't drinking alone, but I had to get him out of one too many sticky situations. When he drank excessively Royce lost all impulse control and was far too open to suggestion. He was caught many a time _in flagrante delicto_ with women he met at bars, and more than once those women had other men. Needless to say, Royce was lucky that he had a lot of lawyer friends, and he was well-versed on defending himself when a little one's paternity was questioned.

I saw Royce enter with a bear of a man walking beside him. This man was lucky to be well-paid, for certainly all his suits needed to be custom-tailored. Royce seemed to be regaling the giant with a tale, for the man's booming laughter was reverberating off the walls. Heads turned to the duo as Royce, who was not a short man, appeared to be dwarfed by his friend.

"Edward!" Royce called out when he saw me. It was clear that Mr. King had chosen to imbibe before he showed up at the bar. His face was red and beads of sweat had started to collect on his forehead. Normally he had his brown hair carefully slicked back with Pomade and parted to the right, but already a few long strands had broken loose and were flapping over his eyes. His shirt and coat were rumpled, and his tie appeared crooked as though he tugged it once roughly to loosen it and hadn't given it a second thought. His usually stylish swagger was a bit off and his coordination seemed to be suffering. His acquaintance just shook his head and chuckled as Royce nearly fell over after running into the corner of a chair.

As they approached, Royce already had his hand extended toward me, and when I took it he pulled me forward into a hug. "Emmett, this is my good friend, Dr. Edward Masen, The best doctor on the east coast." Normally a compliment such as that would make me blush, but coming from Royce in his current state, I could only grimace.

The giant shook my hand, "Emmett McCarty, good to meet you, Dr. Masen." I returned the shake, told him to call me Edward, and noted that I was pleased to make his acquaintance.

After a few rounds and some off color jokes, I found that I enjoyed Emmett's company far more than I did Royce's. Emmett seemed to understand his tolerance for alcohol far better than Mr. King. He was jolly with a booming voice and a contagious laugh, and I could tell that with my dry humor and Mr. McCarty's seemingly total lack of a mental filter, we could fast become friends.

As the night went on, it was clear that we needed to get Royce home. While the waitresses were accustomed to being tapped on the backside, Royce was becoming increasingly vulgar and loud in his assessments of their features, and his advances were becoming less friendly and more unwelcome.

"Well, Edward, it was good to get to know you. We'll have to do this again sometime. Listen, Royce is heading off to Rochester next Friday, how about a bit of a going away get together before then?"

"Sounds great, Emmett. I have a dinner party scheduled for Saturday, up in Vermont. I will be working late Friday…are you up to meeting next Wednesday night?"

"Perfect!" Emmett bellowed. "Same time, same place?" I shook his hand in accordance and we parted ways after Emmett ensured me he could handle Royce on his own. Apparently not only was the new lawyer taking over Royce's position in the firm, but he was also leasing Mr. King's apartment as well.

By Wednesday I had made plans with Tanya to meet for dinner. I arrived at the Denali Estate at 6:30pm to escort her to the Metropolitan Club where her family had retained membership since it had opened its doors. Tanya was very excited as just recently women members were allowed to enjoy the entire club rather than being limited to the Annex. As a special guest, it was certainly my honor to dine there.

I knocked on the doors to the Denali Mansion, and their butler Jules welcomed me in and took my coat. "Miss Denali will make your acquaintance shortly."

"Thank you, Jules."

"Certainly, Dr. Masen." Jules bowed slightly and then left me alone in the sitting room.

The Denali house was one of the finest buildings I ever had the pleasure to enter, and each time it still surprised me that it was home to just three people. At one point, when Tanya's sisters were still living at home the population of the estate had reached an astounding five family members, but Kate and Irina had since married off. Of course, the population count didn't include the private live-in maid, the head cook, the butler, and the gardener who lived in an apartment above the pool house in the summer. On top of this, there were 5-10 day servants that were employed mainly to keep the estate tidy, tend to the stables and assist with the preparation and presentation of a wide range of parties: Dinner, garden, cocktail, as well as brunches, croquet and polo tournaments, celebrity tennis matches and any and all other manners of entertaining that were dreamed up by Tanya and her mother.

The foyer of the Denali mansion was nearly the size of my penthouse loft, and I did not consider my accommodations to be small in any way. The front room was garnished with a gleaming mahogany table that would have seated 12 had it been placed there for dining and always held a large bouquet of fresh flowers in a heavy crystal vase. Beyond that, commissioned paintings featuring the portraits of Tanya and her sisters as well as their parents, Gianna and Marcus, hung on a wall that was flanked by twin staircases that curved inward toward each other, leading to the second floor.

To the right of the foyer a set of double doors led to the Dining room. Dining at the Denali home was an educational experience in and of itself. My first time at dinner, I felt as though I was enrolled in a very important class and taking the final exam all at the same time. Apparently enough of my responses were correct; Tanya continued to date me and her parents invited me back two weeks later.

To the left of the foyer lay two sets of doors. The double French doors led to the grandiose parlor, where Tanya's father liked to receive political figures and dignitaries, and Tanya and her mother liked to hold very important charity meetings on Saturday afternoons. My first time here, I was received in the parlor as a manner of formality to be introduced to Tanya's parents. The parlor was an expression of gilded mirrors and other wall ornaments, silk curtains that were apparently very important and were French in design or origin or some such, and the granite floor was warmed by oriental rugs that surely cost more than my yearly salary. Tanya's mother privileged me with the specifications of this room the third time I met her, but unfortunately my brain failed to retain most of the details.

The second door left of the foyer matched the first, and led to the sitting room which was the smaller and more intimate of the two places. It featured a large marble fireplace flanked by brown leather wingback chairs, a red velvet loveseat and a matching davenport. The walls were painted a pale green and the windows were framed by heavy red and gold curtains. The east wall was about 20 feet long, covered in dark wood bookcases and loaded with a variety of material for reading. It sometimes hurt to look at it, as it always made me wonder what Isabella's reaction would have been to see such a collection in a room that wasn't even the official library (the library, incidentally was located at the back of the mansion with enormous windows facing the back gardens, tennis courts, pool, and beyond that the pasture and stables.

Strangely, I could tell Tanya's intentions for the evening based upon the room in which I was received. When Tanya was more focused on her image a socialite and her work therein, Jules would lead me to the parlor to meet with her. When I was received in the sitting room on evening such as this, it meant that our outing had a more personal meaning for her.

Not long after settling into a leather chair a small young maid entered the room and offered me my choice of drink. I hadn't yet met this maid, so it was my assumption that she had previously been working for one of the cooks and had been training to work outside the kitchen. Tanya's family kept very strict, traditional rules for all their staff. Even though this young girl was now allowed to be seen outside the kitchen, she would never use the front staircases, and at this point it would be unlikely she has seen more of the house than the dining room and parlor. Unlike most modern families which hired day servants exclusively, the Denalis still insisted upon one live-in maid each to be available at their convenience, and live-in cook, Norma. As per standard with such employees, Norma took Thursdays off, and one of the maids took over cooking duties.

I requested a scotch from the new girl, and she bowed her head as she left the room and returned promptly with my request drink.

After my drink had been finished, Tanya's entrance was announced by Jules and I stood as she came into the room. Tanya was always dressed impeccably in a black velvet evening gown with satin gloves that extended just beyond her elbow. The dress fell to the floor, but I was treated to the sight of the sliver of her leg peeking from the slit that ended just above her knee. A fan of fashion, Tanya was always dressed well and was accustomed to attention, so she didn't bat an eyelash when I kissed her cheek and whispered to her how stunning she looked. To be honest, I was somewhat offended. I would think a lady might have some sort of reaction from her almost fiancé.

Instead, she took a step back and eyed the drink that I had been offered, "I hope she wasn't too much trouble for you, Edward."

"I beg pardon?"

"The new girl servant, what is her name again? Brenda? Brigitte? No, those are too long. It's a strange name anyway…Bree! She's normally just here in the day, and works in the kitchen with Norma. For some reason or another Norma requested today off instead of her usual Thursday. That's why we're going out tonight. I can't trust that little girl to prepare an edible meal for me. I just hope she didn't mix up your drink order."

"No, darling the drink is fine. Is she new working with Norma?"

"She's been working here only six weeks. I believe she's been sent over by some agency or another. Up until now, she has only assisted in the kitchen, so I'm not used to seeing her face in my dining and sitting rooms." Tanya's brows furrowed slightly in a scowl, and for the briefest moment her lower lip sagged in a pout before she fixed a smile upon her face.

Unlike Tanya, I hadn't lived with such formalities around our staff. Our head cook Geraldine had been like a second mother to me and the few staff that worked under her were equally as affectionate. Without a similar experience I had nothing to add but a small smile and a nod.

Shortly thereafter I assisted Tanya with her silver colored cashmere wrap and matching muff for her hands, and we left with her car and driver, arriving promptly at the gates of the Metropolitan Club. Being with Tanya in public like this was a heady experience. While I was raised in a wealthy home, it was an entirely different level to associate with the same people that had seen Tanya being raised from diapers to debutante. Her interactions with them were flawless, and I was pleased that Tanya was happy with how I comported myself at the club. Throughout the night, her hand never left my arm, and as the evening wore on she slowly inched closer.

During the meal, I mentioned to Tanya that I would be heading to Vermont during the coming weekend once more. She appeared put out by my plans and I found out that she had arranged for us to make an appearance at the premiere of the film "Black Narcissus" Starring Deborah Kerr, who was reported to be making an appearance. When I mentioned that I was acting upon a favor for an old family friend, she said she understood, although she bluntly declined to be my date for the event, scoffing at the idea of 'trampling around in the backwoods'. Luckily, she seemed to accommodate my schedule conflict well enough, and we continued on with our dinner in companionable silence.

By the time we left the club, Tanya had enjoyed several glasses of champagne and was leaning on me and brushing my lips with hers as her driver took us back to her home. I didn't fail to notice the seductive looks she was giving me as she looked up at me through her eyelashes, and that she licked her bottom lip several times. She was indeed a vixen when she had the mind to be such.

As we drove away from the club, Tanya had made it clear that she would rather spend some time at my apartment before heading home. Preferring to have her in my bed than face her wrath at feeling rejected, I directed the driver back to my place.

As we made our way toward my apartment in midtown, I was still bothered by the emotions conjured by the funeral I attended the weekend past. I began to realize that I had no one with whom I could share my feelings. In fact, the only person who had heard the story in its entirety was Liam, the barkeep in Bennington Vermont.

The driver dropped us off under the awning of my building, which provided us with some discretion so that our whereabouts wouldn't be published in Monday's society pages. The last thing that Tanya wanted was for all of New York to know that she was seen entering her boyfriend's building at such a late hour. After reaching my apartment, I took leave to the guest bathroom to freshen up and allowed Tanya to use my master bath. When I entered my bedroom, the lighting was dimmed but for the small lamps lit on the side tables that flanked my large four-poster bed. Tanya was laid sideways on the navy blue coverlet of the bed, her pale contrasting with the dark furnishings. Tanya was wearing nothing but garters and black stockings, high-heeled shoes and a ruby red glittering mask that covered just her eyes, accented with a red ribbon that curled and hung low between her naked breasts.

Despite the depressed state I had been carrying on since the weekend past, my pants tightened immediately to see her body laid before me. I approached the bed quickly and willed away my sullen mood.

Crawling onto the bed, I met her lips immediately and closed my eyes. I cupped her cheek and ran my fingers through her hair, and then pulled her body close. Tanya, who was already lost in passion, wouldn't notice that my eyes were closed almost the entire time.

For her last birthday I purchased her a bottle of perfume that smelled like freesia and strawberry. This was the closes scent I could find to Isabella. With eyes firmly ensconced in darkness, I envisioned my hands running through thick chestnut locks as my other hand slid up _Isabella's_ stomach to cup her breast. I ran my fingers in a pattern from her nipple to her hip, until I flipped her onto her back and envisioned a pair of dark brown eyes staring back at me.

Before long, my clothing had been removed and thrown somewhere in the room, and her hands had grasped my penis and were stroking expertly. I imagined that this is what it would have been like if I had been with Isabella for the past twelve years. I could envision how she would have become less inhibited with my body and hers; how she would have known how to touch me perfectly and I would have learned the secrets to pleasuring her like no other would. I would have been hers, she would have been mine and together we could have played each other like fine instruments made only for each other.

Before long, she was moaning as the pleasure I gave her with my fingers took over her body, and I leaned over her and entered. We were not even officially engaged, and we were careful that our relations did not result in an unexpected child. Although illegal, she personally did not find a pessary immoral, and I knew that she would have placed it inside herself before we met up in her room.

With long, fast strokes, I remembered what being with Isabella had been like. The feeling of being inside of her had been the most intense experience of my life, and it was with this memory that I came after I heard Tanya cry out in pleasure and felt her walls clenching me tightly. The one time I had been with Isabella I had pulled from her before I spilled my seed, so I enjoyed imagining what it would have been like to let go inside her body.

After we were finished, I lay beside Tanya while her head rested on my shoulder and felt my chest clench with emotion. After 12 years, I still had to imagine a ghost before I could come with a woman. While I once felt deep sadness, and then anger for having to remember someone who was passed, I now only felt one thing after bedding Tanya.

I felt like a traitor.

Before drifting off, my eyes wandered throughout my surroundings. I found it strange that even though I had a woman in my bed with her bare arms draped across my chest, I didn't feel warm in her company. I felt cold and lonely, a stranger in this setting. I had been living in this apartment for almost two years, but I never thought of it as home. I hadn't had a home for a long time.

It occurred to me that _home_ was how I might describe how I felt at the Cullen residence. I had been there only once, but I had felt a strange sort of comfort while I was there, and a kind of magnetic pull to return. I had been a long, long time since I had felt that in any sort of place. 12 years and 2 months, if I were honest. As I lay with my lover and future fiancée, I could only think of returning to the odd house in the woods that held more love than I had known in more than a decade.

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><p>AN: Trivia, does anyone know the name of the now famous "piano bar in the Hotel Elysée" in New York? It became much more popular and earned its current name in the 1950s; a decade after this story has been set.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Twilight and affiliated characters are owned by Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended.

Special thanks to blk3660 for pre-reading

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><p>As I drove away from the city and into the increasingly winding roads of Western New York, I silently thanked the fine weather on that early morning in May.<p>

The nights were noticeably shorter, and thankfully the day I spent driving from the City back to the Cullen household was warm and bright, with enough clouds to protect me from the blazing sun. I had recently purchased a new car – a 1947 Mercury Club Convertible, and I was eager to test it on long stretches of highway. Despite my upbringing, I really felt a desire for few things. My apartment was furnished in a practical manner, I had purchased for myself clothing that suited my lifestyle and my diet was sound and mostly unimaginative when I wasn't dining out.

This left excess funds available to fill my life with escapades out on the town, and of course, my love of the automobile.

Despite my city-boy persona, I found myself becoming increasingly pulled back to the Cullen house in the woods and their anomalous project with Glendale. With every mile I put between New York City and myself, I felt a deeper sense of calm. During my drive, I had little to think about, and I was constantly tinkering with the radio as I fell in and out of range of local stations. It gave me time to pinpoint when I most strongly felt this emotion that the presence of the Cullens and Lt. Whitlock had brought forth in me.

_When I was about eight, I remember entering the back door of our house in Seattle on a cold February afternoon to the smell of apple pie. It was my father's birthday and Geraldine had set out to make him a feast fit for a king. When I walked through the doors and deposited my wet clothing in room off to the side, Geraldine came whipping in and helped me to remove my sodden coat and boots and ruffled my red-brown mop of hair._

"_Dear child, this cold rain will give you a chill and a fever. I have enough food to cook up; I don't have time to make my famous soup too!" Despite her chiding words, I distinctly remember feeling warmed by the smile on her face and the light in her eyes from seeing me at the end of my school day._

_When I was eleven, I placed first in a local competition in composition and performance on the piano. As I stood before the baby grand on the stage, I remember the sense of pride I felt as the crowd clapped for me as they placed the ribbon on my lapel and awarded me with a impressive trophy. But the warm feeling, the feeling of home came from seeing my mother and father in the third row gracing me with a standing ovation. I knew from that point on that pleasing my parents gave me a feeling inside me that I wanted to hold onto forever._

_And when I was sixteen, the feeling came from _her_. I remember the day I realized I was in love with her. It had been over Christmas break and my melancholy was affecting the entire household. Isabella's mother and stepfather had insisted that she visit Arizona of all places to call upon Judge Dwyer's parents. Without doubt, those two weeks of her absence had been, until that point the longest two weeks of my life. Then one afternoon, I heard my father's footsteps approach my room after I barely registered the chime of the doorbell._

"_You have a visitor, Edward," My father announced._

"_If I must, Father." I was not in the mood. I was too busy reading over a letter that had been sent by Isabella and sulking over our separation._

"_I think you'll agree with this one." Had I detected a smirk in his voice as he left my room?_

_Begrudgingly, I descended the stairs to receive my guest in the parlor. By the time I had reached the last step my feet were all but dragging. I hoped it wasn't another girl from school. I found the way they called upon me unannounced most rude. Everyone knew that I was dating Isabella, and no girl arriving by surprise was going to change my feelings, unless their intention was to get on my bad side._

_Finally I decided to round the corner to the parlor._

_In my parlor sat the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. The sun in the south had kissed her skin in the most delicious way, and I saw immediately how it had also brought out the red highlights of her dark hair. She was in a new dress, royal blue that stopped at her knees, and a small white cardigan that set off the glow of her skin. Rising from the couch, she laughed as my slouched posture straightened immediately and I all but ran to her side._

"_Isabella…" I was at a loss for words, but the next ones that came forth as I clasped her hands could not have been truer, "I missed you…" I whispered, and then added without a second thought, "I love you, so very much."_

_Her smile was blinding, and she let go of my hands to hover them over her mouth. Tears slid down her cheeks, "I love you too, Edward." _

_And I didn't care who might see us as I cupped her face and kissed her soundly and with reverence._

Breaking from memory, I found myself on a familiar street in the heart of Bennington, to check into the hotel in which I had stayed the weekend past. I was given the same room as last time, by the same portly gentleman who seemed to practically live night and day at the reception desk.

The hotel I was staying in was quite modern, and I was pleased to find an array of toiletries available, include soap for washing and shaving. After showering and dressing, it wasn't long before I was heading down the country road to the Cullen's home.

The entrance to the lane was much easier to spot this time around, and as I carefully wound his car over the dirt road, I saw something I hadn't noticed the first time around.

About one third of the way up from the main road, the laneway forked and a narrow grassy path shot off to the left. The path seemed less worn than the Cullen's laneway, but still used. Instead of being a full dirt road, it was simply two strips of dried mud which had been left with the imprint of large horse hooves. The way it looked, it appeared better fit for a carriage than a car.

At the apex of the fork in the road, two signs hung about seven feet up a tree. Pointing to the right, a wooden arrow directed the traveler to "Dr. Cullen, MD." The sign to the left simply said "Glendale". I then remembered that this was the name given to Carlisle's visionary maternity home. I found it strange and intriguing that the place would be accessible by a road only slightly bigger than a footpath. Still, I continued on my way to meet up with Carlisle and Esme.

For the second time in a week I approached the white house, and noticed that it had been cleaned up considerably, probably for the evening's events. The porch rails had been fixed and painted to match the shutters and the house and windows were neatly washed. The April garden was still sparse, but brave flowers of yellow, purple and white had pushed their way through the cold soil, and in some places had even found their way to daylight through small clumps of snow that still lingered in the shadow of the eaves. The grass, which had been patchy brown the week before, seemed to have enjoyed a rainfall as it sported a bright spring green coat, and smelled like the newness of the season.

I rapped on the door, and it was opened by a tall Hispanic lady who introduced herself as Angela. As she nearly stood eye to eye with me, I took in a gentle, but mischievous glimmer in her eye. I introduced myself as Dr. Edward Masen, friend to Dr. and Mrs. Cullen, and I thought I saw a brief flash of familiarity and perhaps anxiety in her face. Perhaps Carlisle and Esme had mentioned me, or she read the _Times _and is afraid of maintaining proper comportment in the face of someone of my status. The expression remained only for the briefest of seconds however, before her face became neutral and she led me to the parlor to meet with the hosts and then excused herself.

When I questioned Carlisle and Esme, I learned that her name was Angela Weber and she was not a servant. She was, rather one of the few women who stayed behind and chose to work and support he Maternity home from the inside. A gifted cook, she was assisting Mrs. Cullen for this evening's party and had probably retreated back to the kitchen to continue with preparations.

Soon after, Mrs. Cullen also excused herself, and Dr. Cullen offered me a brief tour of the property.

Heading out the back door, Carlisle led me through the gardens that Esme herself had designed, which were manicured all the way up to an even larger hospital-like building that stood about 400 yards from the Doctor's house. When I questioned Dr. Cullen about the small road, he simply stated that is was used for some deliveries, but mainly everything that was needed came through the Cullen house, which is why their lane was better maintained. He showed me that beyond a stand of trees, the lane that circled in front of the house extended off to the side and back, meeting up with the larger Maternity building.

"The girls, unfortunately have few visitors to the Glendale building," as he referred to the large square brick building, "And any prospective parents who are wishing to adopt are received in our home. While all couples wanting to adopt can receive a full tour of the facilities, we discovered long ago that some are upset by wandering into a building full of girls at various stages of pregnancy. Perhaps some husbands and wives prefer to forget that their babies were born from another union, or maybe they are upset by seeing girls so young and round with child. In any case, we also learned that privacy is paramount to the girls in residence. While we don't try to hide anything, many of the young women like to be tidied and freshened before they are met with parents.

"Like I said however, we have nothing to hide. As a doctor and a professional there shouldn't be a problem with your impromptu visit."

As Carlisle continued on with a tour of the building, explaining that it was originally a small Mental Asylum from the mid-1800s, until the need outgrew the facilities, and those patients were transferred to a newer and larger facility up north in Waterbury.

Carlisle gave me a brief history of their work in this place. When they purchased the property in 1933, the building was an established Maternity home but its conditions were deplorable. All but one patient had already left; Ruth Brandon, who was in her second trimester and had one daughter – Alice, who was 4 years old at the time. She had been serving as the former owners' live-in maid, and it was through her that they developed a friendly working relationship with the Black Family.

I was given a brief tour. He pointed out several aspects of the home, including a large dining room and kitchen; two large rooms used as classrooms; labour and delivery rooms and even a poorly equipped, but sanitary operating theater.

"The classes are taught by Ms. Black, our daughter Alice, and Miss Weber whom you met this morning. Ms. Black plays an important role with Glendale. She runs the farm adjacent to the property. In the winter, as part of our agreement, she makes extra money for her family by teaching for us. In the summer, many of the girls work with her on the farm which is how we keep down some of our costs. The girls work in the garden voluntarily and are paid directly, and we receive some food for free. In return, Ms. Black has enough hands to help her produce enough goods to keep the farm running and her family fed. This is also part of the girls' education, as they are taught the art of canning and preserving goods that the home uses all winter, as well as seed saving, garden planning and household economics.

"This is all foreign to me," I admitted, "How does Mr. Black feel about his wife working out of the home so much? I mean, with a successful farm, she should be needed at home."

"Ms. Black is widow," Carlisle chuckled, "and before you ask the next rational question, the answer is 'No'. For some reason she is strictly opposed to remarriage, although she has several suitors in town," Carlisle's shoulders shook in amusement and his grin widened, "Unfortunately for her, they are as persistent as she is stubborn, and each one of them is convinced that one day she'll want to warm her bed with a man once again and give up on the men's work such as farming and paying bills."

I smiled at Dr. Cullen's observations, and strangely I could relate to Ms. Black and the persistence of others in determining her marital status. Of course, I wasn't a widowed woman with a farm and possibly children. If that were me, I didn't believe I would think twice about remarrying so I could give up the men's work and stick to women's affairs.

Three hours later, I was sitting at a small round table in the music room listening to women speak about the importance of providing young ladies and wives with healthy pregnancies, and even contraception. The Cullens, my table companions, had long ago abandoned their seats to fulfill various obligations related to hosting the party.

The speeches were enlightening. As a doctor, I was well aware that there were women groups fighting to legalize the pessary and other methods of birth control, but as a man I had never given it much thought. My medical expertise focused on surgery, and except for encounters with Tanya I was more or less oblivious to the desires of women to prevent pregnancy. Oh, I'd heard of back alley butchers ending women's pregnancies, and I certainly studied the topic from a professional standpoint, but my operating theatre was no place for such conversations. It was easy to dismiss those stories as over-exaggerated tales turned to nightmares.

But as the women took to the podium one by one, I was reminded that economic conditions as well as women's health were all factors in promoting contraceptives. For very few women, the goal of contraceptives was not to become loose or delinquent in sex. For many married women, their bodies were worn out by the time they reached their late twenties, not only with the physical strain of childbirth, but the economic and time demands that were placed on a housewife who had 6, 7 or even 12 children.

"I've had just about enough of this, haven't you?" A raspy male voice spoke from beside me.

Taking the seat to my right, one of the few male guests had caught my attention with this vague comment, "I beg pardon?"

"All this talk of birth control and women's rights, I don't think I can take more of it," He chuckled darkly. His dark blonde hair was slicked back and his face was cleanly shaven, yet his eyes appeared calculating and rebellious.

"I mean, they got the vote, what more do they want? Next they want to control when our sons are born. I think they just want it as an excuse to bed the milkman while their husbands are out making a hard-earned dollar. As men, I say we can't sit idle while women start making decisions that are clearly beyond their scope." Stunned by his blunt introduction, I was at a loss on how to politely refute his claims. Further, the way his eyes shifted as he scanned the room while speaking with me was unnerving. I wasn't sure if he was looking to meet up with someone, or looking to keep away from them.

"By the way, I'm James Black." James extended his hand.

"Dr. Edward Masen. Are you any relation to Ms. Black?" He laughed darkly and shook his head.

"I'm a cousin of her late husband, although I intend to be more than that to her, if you know what I mean. In fact, she's the only reason I'm here. I came to make a good impression, but she didn't even show up. Alice Cullen fed me some malarkey about her children being ill or some such.

"The truth is, Marie Black sits on land that belongs to my family by right, and as far as I'm concerned she's all but throwing it away with the agreement she has made with the Cullens. Typical for a woman, she's much too emotional. Once my family and I convince her to marry me, I can take over the management of the farm and she can resume her duties as a proper woman should."

I couldn't fathom the reason, but I had an overwhelming urge to protect Ms. Black's name and reputation. It seemed ludicrous. I hadn't even met the woman. Perhaps the fond way in which Carlisle spoke of her made it feel like I knew her, although I wouldn't know her from Eve.

I tried to interrupt James and his rant, but he continued, "But, I don't want to make her sound like that much trouble. Despite her personality, the woman is gorgeous. Her legs are out of this world, and even for her age she has the face of an angel. I used to think I preferred blonds, but she has since converted me to the sexual wiles of the brunette." James Black had the nerve to waggle his eyebrows as he spoke the last part of his sentence. I wondered where he learned it was respectable to speak about a widow in such a manner, his late cousin's wife, at that.

That was my breaking point. I'd always had trouble hearing other men speak about brunettes in a sexual manner. I realized it was irrational, as most women had dark hair, but for some reason it was a strange manifestation of my love for Isabella. Every time a man mentioned that hair color, my brain superimposed her face into the story of his conquest or victory over the woman in question. Not to mention, I had developed an unreasonable soft spot in my hear for Ms. Black, to whom I had yet to make an acquaintance.

Excusing myself, I scanned the room for any sign of the Cullens. Esme was in the throes of introducing and thanking speakers, Carlisle was sitting with a group of people, but when I approached I could tell he they were discussing the various uses of potential donations and I didn't feel that it was a conversation I could intrude upon. Jasper and Alice were no where in sight, although he had left his jacket behind so I knew he had not yet gone home for the evening.

I circled past the stage to the opposite end of the sitting room to a pair of French doors, their windows twinkling gold from the light within. Stepping out, I was assaulted with the cold clean air of the Green Mountains and the inky black of a moonless night in the woods.

Using the light that emanated from the indoors, I took in the garden at night. Crickets strummed a beat to the symphony of the nocturnal animals that surrounded the home. Standing still, I could hear the small rustle of grass as mice scampered around my feet, and occasionally, I heard the lonely hoot of an owl scanning for his next meal. In the distance, a pack of coyotes rounded out the concerto with a cacophony of howls that broke through the silence, until their voices were slowly enveloped by the darkness once more.

Without conscious thought, I began walking and found that I had rounded the side of the house. I could see the row of kerosene lanterns that had been placed along the drive to welcome the guests. Following the trail, I noted a peacefulness that I hadn't felt in a long time even though I had left behind a very familiar and comfortable setting. I had lost count how many dinner parties, soirees, cocktail parties, evening fundraisers and silent auctions that I had attended over the last year. So it was surprising that I would feel such a sense of calm walking away from the event and into the blackness of the unfamiliar forest.

I stopped at the road to Glendale. The lanterns continued every 25 feet or so down the drive to meet the main road, but there was one placed on either side of the carriage road. I thought it was strange that they would mark a road so rarely used. Surely no one would be using the road at this hour. Curiousity got the best of me, and I decided to meander up the road which would lead back to the maternity building.

The thick darkness of the night pulled me in, and it wasn't long before I was surrounded by black on all sides. Perhaps the lanterns had made me over confident in my ability to travel down dark country roads on a moonless night. After about 10 minutes of shuffling my feet blindly, I reasoned that the maternity home was probably closer than the fork in the road, and once I reached that building, I would be able to see the lights from the party.

I held my hands out in front of me and the adrenaline pumped through my veins. I knew little about the creatures that lived in these woods, but I knew enough. This would surely be an unpleasant time to meet up with a mother bear or perhaps a bobcat protecting their young. Recalling my survival training from a summer camp in my youth, I attempted to make as much noise as I could on my path, and I resorted to singing a new song by Frank Sinatra.

_Ain'tcha ever coming back, aintcha? _

_Can't ya see the difference it makes?_

_I'm half myself without your kisses,_

_One more night of doing without`em will drive me crazy_

_Won'tcha make me smile again,won'tcha?_

_Just a word is all that it takes._

_Your hello will let me know that we're the same as we used to be,_

_Oh, ain't cha ever coming back to me?_

My heart felt heavy as my voice broke on the last line. I had not intentionally chosen a song that reminded me of Isabella and what we could never have, but I had long since resigned to the theory that most songs would conjure memories of Her. I knew the answer to the question that was posed by the song – I knew that if I ever got to see her again, it would be me that was going to her.

I wasn't able to wallow in my grief for long, as I heard a large branch break in the distance. My head automatically snapped to the right, for fear that I had encountered a large animal. I wasn't typically fearful man, but the woods were dark and strange, and I knew I wouldn't be able to negotiate my life with an angry beast.

My fears were unfounded, however. As I looked quickly to the left, I saw the yellow light moving swiftly away from my line of vision, blinking in and out behind trees and receding into the distance. I thought it strange that someone was out at this hour, but of course I also had no idea where I was. I could have been close to a main road and be completely unaware until a vehicle of some sort passed by. Perhaps the lantern had been attached to a wagon, although the gait didn't seem right for a horse.

Up ahead I could detect a break in the trees just slightly illuminated by the warmth of light emitted from several windows. I must have become entirely disoriented on my nighttime jaunt because the Home was much further away from the road than I recalled. No matter, at least I had a bit of light to lead me.

I kept my eyes trained on the glowing dots. After traipsing through the woods for what seemed like hours, nothing was more welcoming than the lit windows of a building, a beacon promising warmth and light. My pace quickened as the building came better into view.

As I approached, I realized that the building I had come across was not the Maternity home at all, but rather a smaller house. From the angle that I approached, a barn resided just behind the house and in the darkness it appeared as one large entity. I wondered where exactly I had stumbled.

I didn't have time to think long though. Before I took another step, I felt the cold butt of a rifle in the middle of my back.

"Don't. Move. A. Muscle." It was a low growl, fierce, determined and feminine.

It took all the strength in my body not to respond to what my body ached to do. I remained as still as I could, and slowly raised my hands when the voice commanded me to do so. Though my body wished that I would run and my fists wanted me to fight, my brain reminded me that neither of those actions were possible. So I stood still.

Slowly, the attacker shifted around the right side of my body, dragging the butt of the gun over my shoulder blade, my bicep and my chest, eventually settling squarely over my heart. I had kept my breathing steady, and I concentrated on keeping my reactions in check so as not to make any sudden movements.

So when she gasped and spoke, my eyes flew open. I didn't realize that I had closed them, but I could see her plainly because in taking up her gun, she had been forced to abandon her lantern behind me, which caused her to be illuminated from her cheekbones to her feet.

I first heard her sharp intake of breath and she gasped, "Edward!" before her gun lowered and her hand flew over her mouth as she backed away. Her hair was bundled into a cap that mostly obscured the top half of her face, but I recognized her lips and chin and her voice well enough. I was frozen in place, not sure which type of fantasy or delusion or rabbit hole I had fallen into on my travels. It simply wasn't possible. It wasn't real.

Before I could think, she had turned and ran into the night, leaving me alone on a dark path with a lantern. I didn't know where I was or into what I had stumbled, but I knew I had to follow that small woman.

Turning to retrieve the light I searched for her form, but I could only make out the crunch of feet on the forest floor. I followed the noise, and in an act of desperation I called out her name while scanning the darkness with my lantern.

"Isabella! Isabella!" I bellowed into the night, my voice hoarse from breaking the silence of my walk with a scream. I searched the tree line, the road I had taken and the black wall of the forest, but I couldn't find a path that connected my current location with the sound of her feet on the ground. With nothing to lose, I broke from the road and took to the woods, stepping my way clumsily over fallen logs and last year's broken branches. My feet sunk into the spongy wet of the forest floor, and my shoes slid over mossy rocks slick from the recent rain. I called her again, with no doubt that it was her and laden with fear that I may never see her again.

As the footfalls faded ahead of me, I chanced to run over the uneven carpet of the woods. I had to see her. If I was wrong, I had to know, but I was certain of who that was. It seemed impossible but my heart knew what my mind could not process.

I stumbled after her in a half loping, half jogging fashion, until I felt my shoe catch on a piece of the woods. I felt, rather than saw the ground pummeling towards me. As the lantern rolled from my hands, my face connected with cold rock and my mind fell into darkness.


	8. Chapter 8

Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight and all its characters. No copyright infringement intended.

_A/N I apologize for my tardiness, but I haven't had much time to write in the last few weeks!_

_Just to recap what has happened so far:_

_Edward Masen visits his father's former classmate, Carlisle Cullen while in Vermont for a funeral. Carlisle runs a maternity home and invites Edward to a charity soiree to help fund the home_

_When he returns to the home, he steps outside for some air, and begins walking in the dark down a road he has seen while driving to the Cullen's home_

_He is approached on the road by a woman bearing a resemblance to his long lost love, Isabella. He chases her after she runs away, but he wanders into the woods and stumbles, hitting his head._

Many thanks to blk3660 for pre-reading!

* * *

><p>After a few minutes, or possibly hours, my mind cleared and I heard the crunch of the underbrush as a person ran my way, swinging a lantern.<p>

As the person neared, I saw that it was Jasper, approaching me from what seemed like an almost non-existent path in the woods. The light that shone from his lamp illuminated a tiny strip of bare earth no wider than his feet, and his trail was often obstructed by low branches and fallen debris. Twice I saw him jump a fallen log.

Before long he appeared at my side, and I noticed that little Alice was behind him. Through the dim light, I could see that Jasper's hair was disheveled, and I looked away when I noticed that Alice's blouse was buttoned up wrong.

Jasper bent down low, and the white puffs of his breath mingling with the cold air brushed my cheek

"Edward! Are you Alright man? What in heaven's name are you doing out here?"

The simple question caused a rush of memories and emotions to come back to me. I had seen Isabella, I was sure of it. And if that woman wasn't Isabella, then I had to find out why she appeared to similar. Just the thought of seeing her…but she was dead. No, it couldn't be her. It's been twelve years since she'd passed. I must be going insane. I can't go insane. Could it be? Could it have all been a mistake? No. I saw the telegram myself. _She's gone Edward_. My brain prattled on while my breaths became short and sharp. I was starting to hyperventilate, and Jasper misunderstood my reaction.

"Edward, did something attack you? I need to make sure you're OK. Alice can you go get Carlisle? No, wait. I don't want you wandering in the dark if there's an animal out-"

"No Jasper, it wasn't an animal…I…" I was at a loss. What could I possibly tell him? Though I rarely spoke of Isabella in my time overseas, Jasper had been one of the few confidants to whom I had opened up. While he didn't know everything, he knew enough to make it an easier conversation than with anyone else.

"Jasper, I'm fine, I just need a moment." I began to rise up to my knees and quickly curled back onto the ground as a splitting headache ripped through my brain.

"Edward, you need to see Carlisle, and it looks like he's coming to see you, because it doesn't look like you'll be walking there anytime soon."

I brought my hand up to my face and gently placed it over the spots that stung. I had a nasty cut on my lip and a nice-sized bump on my head, but nothing to bother Carlisle with.

"Please, Jasper. I can walk just…I need a few minutes." My mind was reeling, but not from the fall. Who was the dark-haired woman I had seen? Although it was a dark an moonless night, and my mind could list off countless reasons why that couldn't have been Isabella, first and foremost is that she died 12 years ago, my heart kept telling me it was her. It's like it knew her presence inherently. The war between my mind and my emotions was draining me of any rational thought.

I knew in that moment that I needed to focus on getting up and convincing everyone that I was fine, and then I could find out about the woman I saw. My mind was pushing me to go over each detail I saw in the dim light: The mouth that was the same pink bow-shape that I would never forget kissing; the soft, small cleft in her chin that was just right of center and was only noticeable to others when she pursed her lips; her long pale neck, and the constellation of six freckles over her left collarbone and last but not least, her unique musky womanly scent, infused with a hint of flowers and grass rather than the strawberry I remember so well. It's hard to believe that I would be able to pick it out after twelve years, but I could, on that woman. Unless I was losing my mind.

Was I losing my mind?

I winced at the thought that I was starting to hallucinate. Was I projecting her image, her _scent_ onto other women now? For a time in college, my head would snap whenever a petite brunette was within sight. My friends quickly learned not to make fun of me whenever I did it. She was always in my thoughts. Even now, I'll admit that a certain shade of brown hair, a woman with a similar figure will cause me to think about her. It was almost an addiction to see parts of her in every woman I met. It was maddening and at times close to debilitating and while I hated it, could never wish that it didn't happen.

In fact, one of the reasons I agreed to date Tanya, was that the very end of her laugh, as her voice works from vocals to shallow breaths, reminded me of Isabella's. It was better than nothing.

So, in realizing this, I knew that for the sake of my own sanity, I had to see this woman again. I had to know if she looked at all like Isabella, or if I had simply projected her image onto the partially obscured face of a stranger.

It pained me to realize that for the briefest of moments, I thought that I had…that she wasn't…

"Edward, are you in pain?" Jasper's soft voice brought me back from my thoughts. I realized that my emotions were showing on my face, and he had interpreted it as physical pain.

"No, well yes, but that's…."

How could I explain this? Jasper was one of the few people to whom I had disclosed my relationship with Isabella, including the mistakes I made and her death shortly thereafter. I never got into the emotional side with him, however. I was a doctor treating a patient, and while we had become friends, we were living through a war and I couldn't step beyond that boundary, as it not only would have looked unprofessional, in certain cases it could have been dangerous.

On the other hand, if there was anyone who would understand, Jasper would be the likely candidate. He knew that she had meant a lot to me, so hearing about the rest – the sleepless nights, the years I felt like a zombie pushing myself through school, the drinking for brief moments of respite – it wouldn't be a huge leap. I admired Carlisle greatly, and I don't think I could look him in the eye if I had to tell him what I had done to my first and only love. I suppose it was shame I felt, but I didn't want him to see that side of me, the man who callously threw away love, and who learned his lesson in the harshest of ways.

I took a deep breath, pushing it out through my pursed lips, and tried to ignore the throbbing in my temple, "There's…something. I can explain it to you, but not here. It's personal. Please, just help me back inside and I can tell you." Jasper eyed my curiously for a moment, and then silently nodded his head and offered me a hand.

I was able to slowly rise up, and the dizziness passed after a few moments and some deep breaths. I had forgotten that Alice was still behind him until she produced a handkerchief and gently dabbed at the blood on my forehead. My cheek colored in embarrassment as I thanked her and took the cloth from her hands.

The walk back to the Cullen house was much shorter than my walk along the road, via some thin and winding footpaths that seemed to intersperse through the wooded area. Jasper referred to them as "deer trails", and having no idea whether they were actually made by deer, I simply nodded my head and continued on. Thankfully my lantern had survived my fall, actually coming out less scathed than I did. A bit of oil had leaked out the side, but the woods were still damp from the weather that nothing would have come of it had it caught fire. All in all, it was nice to have two lanterns to light the way back home.

Upon our arrival, it was fortunate that the hour was late and all the other guests had left. I was mortified to greet Esme in the manner that I had. For all she knew, I wandered away from her charity dinner party into an unknown forest and came back disheveled and bleeding. After apologizing profusely, she simply waved me off, and told me that she was glad I was OK. Carlisle looked at me and started laughing, just before he pulled a few wet leaves from my hair. I couldn't help but chuckle as well, although my embarrassment was still at an all time high. What would my mother have thought of this? I hoped she never found out, as I couldn't think of anything more embarrassing.

Carlisle didn't feel comfortable having me drive after a bump to my head, so he graciously offered me a guest room for the evening. I accepted readily, as I needed to find out more of the dark-haired woman. Was she a neighbor? What was she doing on a dark road at night on her own? I needed to talk to Jasper, and I didn't feel like I could leave until I got some answers.

I retired to my room and showered. While I enjoyed removing all the grime from the evening, I felt oddly empty afterwards, like my experience had been nothing more than a dream, and all its evidence was being washed down the drain.

Coming back to the room, I laughed at myself when I noticed that in the chaos of arriving back at the house, and my haste to shower, I had carried the woman's lantern back to my room. It was with an odd sense of elation that I looked at the lamp with the realization that not all the evidence had been washed away.

Turning the lantern in my hands, my fingers brushed against some scratches. Etched in the metal of the container was the word 'Black'.

My stomach dropped and my heart clenched. I didn't realize until that moment that a small part of me had been holding onto this fantasy that I had somehow crossed paths with Isabella. It was absolutely crazy to think that way; she had been gone for so long. But I couldn't help what my heart wanted.

It wasn't Isabella; it was just the widowed farmer who had the odd business arrangement with Dr. Cullen.

Why had she been so hostile toward me? Of course, any woman coming across a man on a dark path had reason to be wary, but she had approached me, from behind at that. The woman I met on the road and the Ms. Black that had been described to me did not sound like the same people.

Perhaps I was mistaken. Reading the word Black etched on the side a lantern doesn't guarantee she was the same woman. But, who else would be out there?

At the time, I didn't question how she had known my first name.

A soft knock on the door broke my train of thought. Jasper entered and quickly shut the door. He walked over to me and handed me a glass of water and two Bayer Aspirin, stating that Carlisle would be up to see me shortly. I was prepared to ask him about the woman, when he spoke first about what had transpired in the woods.

"Alice and I heard the name you were calling out there in the woods," He abruptly began. He levelled his eyes with mine, giving me a look that told me that he remembered, and he knew there was more than to my story than what I had let on.

"I always wondered," he said, "if she was more to you than a high school sweetheart who was in an unfortunate accident like you had described. I can understand why you had to detach from that at the time you told me, but after what I heard in the woods tonight, I'd really like to know." His expression softened, and Jasper sighed, "Dr. Masen, tell me more about Isabella."

I began to speak but he continued, "Now I know that we never shared anything more than childhood memories and funny stories, but I think that we got to know each other pretty well. It seems to me, Edward that you haven't got a lot of people in your life with whom you could share this kind of thing with, am I right?" I nodded slightly, "You can tell me," he finished quietly and succinctly.

I exhaled deeply, and delved into the story of Isabella. For Jasper's sake, I went into even more detail about my years in college, when nothing but school work and alcohol could stop me from obsessing over her memory. I even went so far as to try and track down the academy she had attended, with no luck. Perhaps they had closed down or changed names, but every time I thought I found something about that place, it only led me to a dead end. What was she doing on that train anyhow?

For the first five years after she passed, I often lied awake at night poring over questions and hypothetical situations that could have saved her life. What if I had said no to my mother? What if I had used our engagement as leverage to keep her home? What if I hadn't turned my back on her, and kept her near me and married her? Perhaps she would have been overwhelmed and terrified amongst the socialite women that were determined to eat her alive, but that was just it. She would have been _alive_. Wouldn't she? Would she have resented me asking her to stay instead of going to a school far away? The more I had thought about it, the more I realized that she wouldn't have resented me at all. That's not the kind of person she was.

I was angry at my mother for a long time. Although I believed her intentions were good and she only wanted the best for us, she fed into my fears of Isabella resenting me and wishing that she hadn't chosen me. I had been Isabella's first boyfriend, first kiss, first…everything. I had a deep-seated fear that she would resent staying with me, when she could have been with any of the boys at school.

But she loved me, I knew she did.

I had to believe that she did, because it was all I had left of her.

My memory of the last time I saw her haunted me. Her face was red and tear-streaked, with a look of absolute devastation. I did that to her. I began to believe I was a monster who never deserved her, and her death was nothing more than a reprieve from the horrible life I would have given her.

I didn't even give her a chance to speak when I told her to go, when I led her to believe that she wasn't enough for me until she learned to be a woman who matched my social upbringing. Years later, I would realize that this was one of the difference in her which I found so attractive. She wasn't encumbered by the constraints of the upper crust, and her personality wasn't tarnished with ridiculous expectations. The honesty with which she approached life made her as beautiful on the inside as she was outside, and I had all but forced her to be shipped away to a school that deigned to change that about her. At the time, I believed it was that I knew what was best for both of us, but I had since come to another conclusion: I was selfish and cowardly. I left the love of my life without even giving her the chance to answer back. I never deserved her anyway.

By the time I had finished speaking with Jasper, my voice was raw and cracking with emotion, my head pulsed with pain and my chest felt tight. He simply nodded and cleared his throat and stated, "I see now why you never told me this back at the hospital." I nodded dumbly in return.

Now was my chance to speak, and to turn this discussion toward my goal. "The woman I saw, on the road," I began, and Jasper's eyes flickered brightly for a moment, "In the light that I saw her, she bore an uncanny resemblance to my Isabella…" My voice faded and I added softly, "It must have been the dark, but the reaction I had to her, it was…well it was unprecedented. Just after Isabella passed, I would see girls from the corner of my eye and mistake them for her, but I promise you, I never reacted like _that._ I'm a bit frightened, to be honest. I'm not sure if I'm having some sort of break down, or-"

"Listen, Edward," Jasper interjected. He paused, seemingly to choose his words carefully, "We are pretty sure we know who was on that road, but I think it's better if you get a good night's rest, don't you think? It's been quite a night, and there's no use rehashing things right now when you are tired and overwhelmed, and probably in pain."

"You're right, but I just want to say, that I really feel like I need to meet that woman, just to see her, to get that image out of my head…does that make any sense?"

"Of course it does. We'll talk in the morning, alright?" Jasper clasped his hand on my shoulder briefly before leaving. "I wanted to, well, thank you. For telling me your story, I mean. I always thought there was something more, but when I knew you back then I had never – well, let's just say that having met Alice, I have a whole new perspective on love, and losing one's true love, I can't…I can't imagine."

"You're welcome, Jasper. And thank _you, _also. You're a good listener." A question suddenly passed through my mind, and since I had opened up to him, I took the chance to ask him, "Say, speaking of listening, how is it that you and Alice happened to be out there and heard me calling so clearly?"

Jasper's face turned a humorous shade of red and he mumbled something about a cabin and 'talking', although by the way he shifted and rubbed his neck as he looked away, I believed I was only hearing part of the story. Deciding not to push him further, I thanked him again and bid him good night.

Soon after, Carlisle came up to see me, and after a thorough examination, he concluded that I suffered nothing worse than a lump on my temple. He did ask that he be allowed to check on me through the night, and report to him any blurred vision, dizziness or nausea. He assured me I would feel fine in the morning, and offered up his home once more.

By the time Carlisle left, I was more than ready to get some shut-eye. I stripped down to my underwear and got into the bed. The accommodations were comfortable, but it took me a long time to get to sleep. My body was fatigued, but my mind was wide awake as it replayed everything that had happened since I was just seventeen years old. Eventually I fell asleep as I forced myself to focus on the best time of my life, with visions of long mahogany hair shimmering in the sunlight, laughter like bells, and the deep brown eyes of my Isabella.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Stephenie Meyer owns all Twilight.

Thanks to blk3660 for pre-reading this chapter, and noticing my Canadian spelling!

* * *

><p>Chapter 9<p>

~Bells~

I ran back to the house panting with a light sheen of sweat over my body, causing my cotton shirt and denim work pants to stick to my skin. As soon as I made it behind my closed bedroom door, I leaned against it and sank down, shaking.

It couldn't have been him. But I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was. I would know his face, his voice, his scent better than almost anyone else on earth. Though they were nearly unchanged in the last twelve years, my memory had not done them justice.

Yes, he looked older. His eyes looked flat and his mouth drawn. _Was he unhappy? Of course he wasn't._ My obsessive side that needed to know about his well-being often joined with my masochistic tendencies, and they encouraged me to read about his envious social life in the _Times _almost weekly, so I knew he was off doing all sorts of wonderful things with another woman – just like he was destined to do. But why had he looked like that, so…worn? Perhaps it was the alcohol at the soiree…?

Of course I knew why Edward had looked that way. I was holding him at gunpoint. I bent my head and cradled my face in my palms.

I had never imagined that I would ever have to face anyone from my past life at all, no less like that. It had seemed that I was fairly well hidden out here in the country, and other than that hound of a man called Demitri and his bodyguard Felix I hadn't seen hide nor hair of anyone who would have known me as Isabella Swan.

I was supposed to be dead, after all.

Of all people to have found me, I couldn't believe it was him. I thought at first he hadn't recognized me, but when he called me by name, I was shocked and scared out of my wits. With my hair tucked up and wearing my work clothes, I couldn't believe he would have known me for who I was in the darkness. I wanted to run back to him, to hold him, but I knew it wasn't right. Even without the danger of being recognized, I wasn't that person anymore, and he had moved on. When I heard him fall, I nearly turned back, but just few moments later I heard Jasper calling his name. They must have met at the party, I guess. It turns out that Jasper was closer up the trail to him than I was, and it was safer for him to tend to Edward. With sadness and longing, I turned and ran back home.

The only person who knew of my whereabouts was Elizabeth and her minions, and I know that she would go to the grave before she told her son of my whereabouts. This wasn't my choice, mind you. The situation I found myself in gave me very few options in the matter.

It had been made it clear that by a fateful phone call and then a letter from Edward himself in the summer of 1935 that he had found someone else. I was never sure of Edward's intentions while I was gone. Perhaps he was hoping that with distance, I would forget about him as he had forgotten me. My letters to him went unanswered, and then after calling weekly for over a month and a half, he was always "busy", at croquet, with baseball, on another non-descript outing as delivered to me by Mr. or Mrs. Masen, or sometimes the Geraldine.

Then, in the beginning of June, the Masen's telephone wasn't answered by a family member at all, or even their cook. Instead, I was greeted by the distinct nasal tone of Mrs. Mallory. I questioned her answering the telephone of another home, but she informed me that the Mallorys and the Masens were practically in-laws, what with the way Edward and Lauren were getting along. Mrs. Mallory mused that she could foresee a wedding being planned for next summer.

All that felt like a punch to the gut, and I hung up before I could hear anything more devastating. For two days afterward I waded through life in a haze of sadness. Edward had forgotten about me. Once I was out of the picture he had easily moved on. At first I was betrayed, and hurt, and angry, and on the third day, I became resigned. It all made sense. This is why he was so eager for me to leave; he simply didn't see a future with me. There were girls my age who were far better suited to his life, who I knew would be more than happy to be Mrs. Edward Masen. What had he seen in me in the first place? At that moment, all I had to do was look at my misshapen body and swollen ankles, and it was no wonder he never wanted me.

On the fourth day, I finally cried. I cried for my first love who had changed my life so dramatically. I cried that he would never know about how he had affected me. I had no intentions of ever going back to Washington, so I cried for the place of my youth and childhood that was now forever lost to me.

On the fifth day, I wizened up. Memories of Edward spilled forth in my consciousness. Something was amiss. All the times that Edward and I had expressed our love for one another; the look in his eyes when I entered a room; the way his attention was undivided when I was speaking with him. Those were not the actions of a man who treated love flippantly and cheaply. I didn't know how Edward had felt about me at that moment, but I knew that the love he had shown me was genuine.

Despite all this, it was my memories of him and Lauren that were the most striking. Edward openly but politely expressed his disdain for her. There was so reason for me to believe it was a cover up for affection. He had known Lauren since elementary school, and he could have dated her at any time. But he didn't, he chose me.

As Shakespeare said, something was 'rotten in the state of Denmark'. I could completely understand Edward falling out of love with me. While the thought of that caused my gut to twist, and tears spring to my eyes, I realized that everything else was so _un_Edward-like, and the actions were adding so quickly is looked nearly impossible that Edward was a willing participant in the events that separated us.

On the seventh day, I made up my mind. Despite my current condition, I was going back to Seattle to see him in person. I distinctly recalled that Phil and mother had given Dr. Voltura a lump some of emergency money that would more than cover my round-trip train ticket home. I would have to find a way to access the money, in order to return briefly to Seattle to confront Edward in person. Even if he had chosen another, I needed to hear from him in person. Since letters and phone calls were seemingly ineffective, I doubted that a telegram would be anymore reliable. Yes, he would be surprised, but what else could I do? I had to hear it from him that he didn't want me.

Three days later, I was given an opportunity to confront Aro. I had hurried through my laundry and cleaning duties, and I was currently between one of the outside jobs that were assigned by the Academy.

_June 14th, 1935_

_I had just finished in the laundries, and like usual, I was dishevelled from the rough work. _

_Working the laundries was one of the more physically demanding jobs that was required of us, but it was often given to girls in the later stages of their "condition" as it was so affectionately labelled, because people didn't want to hire domestics with rounded bellies who waddled like ducks and who were out of breath at the top of a flight of stairs. Girls like them, or like me whose belly was expanding at an unusually rapid rate, were given tasks behind closed doors; mainly kitchens and laundries._

_As I made it toward the cool air of the hallway that led to the secretarial rooms and offices, I tried my best to compose myself. I patted down my frizzy hair, and rubbed my hands vigorously to allow some feeling to return to my raw fingers. I had just spent the last three hours working linens against washboards in steaming hot water with rough lye soap, and my fingers ached when I moved them back and forth. There was nothing I could do about my smell. I'm sure I was a bouquet of laundry soaps and sweat, but there was no way to fix that in that short window I was given to approach Aro before he left for the day._

_Walking up to the solid oak door of his study, I rapped softly on the door and waited for his deep baritone voice to permit me entry. I heard a deep and distracted "Enter", before I slowly opened the door and slipped into the room._

"_Well, what a pleasant surprise, Miss Swan! I haven't seen you all week, it's certainly a treat!" Despite my frazzled appearance and unpleasant odor, Aro embraced me in a small hug and then stepped back, eyeing my abdomen like it was a prized pig. I had no where in which to shrink back from his appraisal, so I instead chose to hold my head high and feign indifference toward his attention._

_I didn't understand at the time why Aro gave me special attention. He was very careful about it too. Beyond the doors of his study, he treated me as he did every other girl, with a mix of professional distance and judgmental iciness. When he had to refer to me in public, I was simply, "Swan", and he gave me no more attention than anyone else._

_But within the confines of his study, he was a different man. At first, he was as all the other girls described him in private: brusque, indifferent on a good day, cold and insulting on a bad one. As the primary physician for all the girls staying at Volterra, he saw all of us at least once a week, and then more often as we progressed. _

_But in March, and more so in the middle of May, his demeanor changed. Around the time of St. Patrick's Day, he began treating me like the royalty of Volterra registrants. I was offered my choice of coffee and tea at every visit; he went out of his way to make sure that I had fine linens and a new pillow for my bed – he even offered my a private room, which I declined as I was afraid it would unfairly set me apart from the rest of the girls. Aro conceded this was true, but then told me that of all his patients, I certainly deserved it the most. I agreed to disagree with him, pointing out that there were a handful of girls who were almost at term, and would most definitely be grateful for a full sized bed._

_Aro said that was true, but that grateful and deserving were not one in the same._

_As I stood in his office that day, I still hadn't discovered what set me apart from the rest of the girls here. I had long since presumed that Mother had asked Phil to pull some strings, and since he was nominated for a seat on the Supreme Court, it wouldn't have surprised me if Judge Dwyer had taken it upon himself to line their pockets in an attempt to get his way about things._

_That's what he had done with my father, after all._

_After declining a drink, ensuring that my accommodations were adequate and internally rolling my eyes after Aro declared that pregnancy had done wonders for my complexion because I was "positively glowing", I was able to ask of him what I needed._

"_Dr. Voltura, I've come to ask a very important favour of you, one that would definitely lower my stress," I rubbed my belly meaningfully. I didn't know exactly why I was important to Aro, but I knew he spent a lot of time regarding my condition._

_The doctor eyed me up and down in the usual manner, and then cocked a single eyebrow in my direction, beckoning me to continue._

"_I need to make a short trip to Seattle. I know that Volterra has strict rules about travel, but I also know that I have money set aside, and I would be more than happy to pay for my return ticket, plus one of a nurse if you feel I need to be accompanied." I looked up at him, mustering all the confidence I had with a man that I distrusted implicitly._

"_Seattle? I haven't heard of your mother requesting your travel, so I don't see why you would need to go there. Care to enlighten me?" Aro had moved to sit in the large leather chair behind his desk, while I perched on the smaller chair in front. _

"_Dr. Voltura, I understand this is an unusual request, but I desperately need to check in with a…friend." My heart withered when I said that. I loved Edward, and it was difficult to speak of him without referring to what he was to me – my fiancé, my boyfriend – anything to that effect. But I also knew that speaking of our…'significant others' was frowned upon, and I wouldn't win Aro over by flaunting my hopefully maintained status with Edward. _

_I continued to try and explain the situation without revealing too much, "I haven't heard from a good friend since I came to the Academy, and I find this unusual. I need to make sure this person is OK. Please Dr. Voltura. I know I can't be stressed right now, and I am finding their lack of correspondence atypical and very distressing. You understand, right?"_

_Aro gave me a condescending smile that didn't reach his eyes, "I certainly do, Miss Swan. In fact, my concern is that the trip will stress you out further. Neither of us want that, do we? As your doctor, I can't allow you to knowingly take on stressful situations such as long travel aboard a train, unknown circumstances…" Aro trailed off and took a deep breath, and gazed at me intently, watching the tears pool in my eyes. I tried to plead him with my gaze, silently begging him to reconsider. I realized that I was absentmindedly fingering the chain around my neck that held my rings. I dropped my hand quickly, but Dr. Voltura's eyes caught and followed the movement._

"_Listen, how about I contact your mother, and see what she has to say? Perhaps she can agree to meet with you and you're…friend somewhere discreet? Give me a few days to get in touch with her, yes?"_

I nodded an emphatic 'yes!' to his suggestion, wishing I could jump over the desk and hug him. Instead, I stood up and thanked him profusely. Standing, I backed up to the door and thanked him once more for his kindness.

_I was elated that I might get to see my mother. When Phillip insisted upon my leaving, my mother was saddened, and even tried to find alternatives to me not moving all the way to North Carolina from Washington State. She even suggested I move back to Forks for a time, but Judge Dwyer wouldn't hear of it, stating that there was too much risk that my condition could be found out by 'influential parties'. In the end, my mother conceded to his demands and I found myself alone and pregnant, on the east coast, in a "Finishing Academy' that was most certainly not training me to become a socialite._

_I was also incredibly nervous at the prospect of seeing Edward. Yes, I believed that he loved me, and I also had a strong feeling that he did not want me to be sent away. He wanted to marry me. I still wore his rings around my neck on a long chain, which I hid between my breasts and tucked into my brassiere. But I hadn't had the chance to tell him I was pregnant. The day he came to my house and escorted me to the garden, I could hardly get a word in edgewise between my shock and the way he rambled his decision out to me. Between my tears and confusion, he stormed out of my backyard and drove away before I could find to the words to tell him._

_To say that I was devastated was an understatement. At the time I had reasoned that if he didn't want me the way I was, he certainly wouldn't want me pregnant. He had big dreams – he was so smart, and so driven, I knew he would make a fine doctor. How could I destroy that for him? If I were pregnant, it could ruin his chances for greatness. I couldn't allow that. I couldn't be that person that would sabotage his dreams._

_After I moved to the Volterra Academy, I spent my days working through my monotonous chores and thinking about what had taken place. I thought about that fateful day in the garden – and all the days previous. I realized that I had overreacted. Edward would never hate me for being pregnant, and in any case, he would be able to see that I didn't get pregnant on my own. He could still go to medical school. Even if just one of our families were wealthy, I knew we would have the finances. With both our families there would be no issue. I could stay home and cook, clean, mend his clothes and take care of him as a proper wife should. And Edward had already asked for my hand in marriage. Certainly having a daughter who was pregnant and married wouldn't hurt Judge Dwyer's career, would it?_

_I tried to tell Edward that I was pregnant with his child. If I couldn't do it in person, then at least I could call him, but he was never available. I eventually broke down and told him in a letter, apologizing profusely for telling him in that manner, yet my letters were unanswered. This all added to Mrs. Mallory's claim that Edward was courting Lauren just didn't make sense. Despite my nerves and fears, I had to see Edward, and hear from him in person._

_Three days later, Dr. Aro Voltura called me into his office late one morning. He greeted me with a loose hug, and then told me that my mother was on the phone._

"_Sweetheart?" mom asked after I said hello._

"_Hi mom," I replied, my voice cracking as I heard her voice for the first time in four months, "how's everything?"_

"_Oh," she replied, I could hear the faint sound of papers rustling and china clinking against itself. I imagined she was sitting down for breakfast with Judge Dwyer while he read the paper and drank his coffee, "Everything's fine here, Isabella. How are your classes? Are you learning lots of useful things?" My mother was trying hard to sound enthusiastic, but I knew this Academy had not been her idea. The night before I was told I would be going, I heard hushed voices coming from her bedroom. The next day she stood as a United Front with Phillip, but I could see the sadness in her eyes._

_Still, I couldn't help but scoff at the naiveté of her question, "Yes, mother, lots of useful things," _For a servant. _I added silently, _like how to fold hospital corners tightly, how to get blood out of sheets, and how to cook a meal for 150 people. _In truth, I had no problem doing these chores, but I resented that I had been lied to, and that I had been taken away from my home, my family, and my baby's father against my will. Still, I had been covertly threatened by the headmistress, Jane Drew, if I spoke differently of the Academy than that which they had advertised. Ms. Drew was a cranky old maid who reminded us as often as possible that referring to Volterra as a 'Finishing Academy' was for our own good, so no one found out about our 'conditions'. Most of the girls at the Academy came from well-to-do families from all over the eastern seaboard, and didn't want their loved ones exposed to drama and embarrassment. Volterra, in my opinion, took advantage of our personal gag orders and shamed us into lying to those who we were closest._

_My mother's voice brought me from my bitter reverie, as well as a something else. A suspiciously feminine voice cleared her throat fairly close to the receiver. Certainly a maid wouldn't have been that close to the phone while my mother was using it?_

"_I received your request Isabella, but I regret to inform you that it simply is not a good time to visit." My shoulders sagged in disappointment. A part of me had been expecting this, but a bigger part of me, it seemed, had remained hopeful that my mother would miss me enough to have me for a visit, "So I needed to tell Dr. Voltura," she continued, "To withhold your monies until there is a true emergency." _

_I heard a strange whisper behind the receiver, "Very nicely done, Renee."_

_Even in a whisper, that nasal tone was unmistakable._

_Mother paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, "I'm so sorry darling," she sniffled, "I miss you."_

_I paused for a moment to collect myself and wisely choose my next action. Based on everything I knew, I wasn't sure if it was better to describe my mother as a puppet, or a pawn. In either case, I became certain that someone else was controlling her moves. Claiming this over the phone wouldn't be very wise, as the accused was with my mother thousands of miles away from me, ready and eager to defend herself. And knowing Catherine Mallory, she would stop at nothing to make sure she got her way._

_I sighed, knowing it was better to cut this call short, "I guess I understand mother. I miss you. Please call me if anything changes."_

"_I will my dear, I will."_

_Whispering goodbye, I disconnected the call, and looking at the ground, feigning defeat. I was a terrible liar at the best of times – my mother always said my face was like an open book – so I tried to hide the ire in my expression and hoped that Aro would interpret my posture as one of defeat._

"_Thank you for your time, Dr. Voltura."_

"_My pleasure, my dear. I'm so sorry it hasn't worked out the way you'd like." He didn't sound sorry, "Please, let us know if there is anything more we can do for you, we are happy to accommodate."_

_As Aro continued to ramble on about some extra accommodations he could make for me, I stayed staring at the ground, strategizing how I could get out of this place and back to Seattle. With my mother's blessing or not, I knew I had to talk to Edward. I knew once I could reach him, he would understand and everything would be worked out. I stayed still, looking anywhere but at Dr. Voltura's face while he spoke._

_It then dawned on me. While the rest of the facility was spotless, I noticed that Aro's office had developed a distinct layer of dust on the shelves, light fixtures and rugs. I saw a spot on his desk where a book had been recently moved, and a shiny rectangle of polished oak stood out from the rest of the cloudy surface. I had a plan._

"_Actually, Dr. Voltura, there is something," I began. Aro nodded his head for me to continue._

"_The laundries have been taking their toll on me, and what with my special circumstances," Although I hadn't figured out what was so special about me, I still managed to look him in the eyes, and saw them twinkle as I mentioned my condition, "I am finding that work particularly difficult. The heat and heavy labor are simply too much for my small frame."_

_Aro looked on, considering. Slowly, he nodded his head, agreeing with my assessment. For the moment, I had to push away the thoughts that there were half a dozen other girls who deserved a break from the laundries more than I did. I needed to do this if I wanted out._

_"I also recall that your private maid had to take leave suddenly, one week ago," I hedged, "It looks like your study could use a thorough cleaning. Perhaps we could help each other?" Knowing that Dr. Voltura was very private and only trusted a few people with his personal belongings, I tried my best to look at him through my eyelashes and widen my eyes. Edward used to call them 'doe eyes'._

_Dr. Voltura chuckled, "You see my dear, I only trust a very small group of people with my personal affects. You would have to be very, very trustworthy to be given the privilege of cleaning my study."_

_I allowed the worry I felt that I wouldn't be able to leave, bubble up from within me, and I hoped with the next statement that he would understand it to be worry of a different sort, "You mean, you wouldn't trust me to dust your shelves? I don't think I'm asking much, Dr. Voltura. I'm sure my mother would rather have me dust shelves than scrub soiled linens."_

_Aro's eyes flashed in recognition of the subtle threat. While I hadn't stated I would tell my family just how 'prestigious' the Volterra Academy was, I reminded him that I had information that I could use in my favour._

"_You can start Monday…my dear," Aro hesitated. "You can work in here while I catch up on research. I won't be in your way, will I?" He cocked his eyebrow at me. He was acquiescing to my request, but he was also calling my bluff._

_I nodded my head and excused myself. If I can get him to trust me, then perhaps I can find a way out._

I broke from my dark memories and realized I was still hunched over inside my bedroom. A quick look at my pocket watch told me that it was almost 11 o'clock in the evening, far too late for a farmer who usually starts her day a half past 4 in the morning.

Taking a deep breath, I stood up and poured some water into my basin. I splashed my face, and stepped out of the room to look in on my children.

I had been expected to make a brief appearance at the Cullen's soiree this past evening, and I always hated having to attend. While a small part of my reticence was due to my dislike of the spotlight, a larger part was from my fear of being recognized. I had a bad feeling about this evening, and I couldn't risk my children's lives with someone who could call me out as being Isabella Swan. When my youngest daughter Sarah came down with a mild fever, I knew that my eldest daughter Charlotte could have taken care of her. It was however, a perfect excuse to stay home. I would never wish illness upon my children, but if one of them were to get sick, as children are wont to do, tonight had been a good night to do so.

Stealing up the stairs to the loft, I poked my head through the curtain on the side that was occupied by my two girls. Charlotte lay sleeping on the bed, while Sarah lied closer to the ground on a small mattress that we had dragged up for the evening. She was lying on her belly, with her feet stuck out of the white sheet that covered her body.

Creeping up to her little bed, I felt the side of her face and I sighed in relief as I noticed her fever had gone down and she was back to normal. _She was always one to run hot at the drop of a hat_, I thought to myself, _Just like Jacob. _Like her father, she would sometimes get a fever for seemingly no reason at all. She might act a little off, perhaps tired and then next day she'd be right as rain.

Her jet black hair was splayed over the pillow and her chubby arms clutched the rag doll I had sewn for her last Christmas. Her golden skin tone stood out from the stark white sheets and cotton nightgown that covered her. Gently, I pulled up a quilt and tucked it over her, knowing that by morning she would feel chilled from the spring morning air.

Confident that the fever had passed, I looked over at my eldest. With dark brown hair and piercing green eyes, my Charlotte wouldn't be a little girl much longer. At 11, she was already taking on more responsibilities around the house and the farm. She had her father's personality – it was easy for her to get overwhelmed by her own thoughts, but like him she was also a hard worker. She often fretted over moral issues that were beyond her years, and took too much blame for things that were beyond her control. Just last month we had a calf die, and Charlotte cried for hours. It wasn't the first time we'd had an animal die on the farm – such is our way of life. When I asked her why she was so upset this time, she told me she'd had a "feeling" in the middle of the night that something was wrong, and she should have checked on the calf and she didn't. At that moment, I couldn't do anything but hold her close, whisper to her that it wasn't her fault and let her know that in honoring life sometimes we need to embrace death; in the case of the calf we couldn't have saved it, even if we'd tried. I couldn't help but think of her as a small Edward in that moment.

And finally, I looked over at the partition to see Anthony huddled in his single bed. I couldn't see much of his body as he was covered in a bundle of quilts – where one child ran hot, the other ran cold – just a mop of dark auburn hair sticking out here and there. Anthony, more than anyone else, knew just how much I thought of his father. He knew every time I lifted my hand to run through his unruly mop of hair that Edward was on my mind. I had come to terms long ago with Jacob that I didn't talk about Edward in his presence, but I also didn't want my children to go on thinking that their father wasn't important – especially Anthony. My boy and I made a secret gesture; when I ran my hands through his hair it meant that his father was on my mind. Anthony also had Edward's nose and the shape of his eyes were the same, though they were brown like mine.

As twins, Anthony and Charlotte were a perfect jumble of Edward and I.

My two eldest knew about their father, as much as I could tell them, anyway. So far I had avoided telling them anything about him that indicated that he didn't love me or them. I also couldn't tell them his name, in case they heard it from somewhere, or read it in the paper. They knew that I had loved him, but I had been forced to leave him against my will. They knew that I couldn't go and find him because to reveal myself would put us in danger of being separated and they knew that I felt in the bottom of my heart, that if Edward had been able to meet them he would have loved them too. My love for him, and them, is how I ended up in the backwoods of Vermont married to Jacob Black.

I refused to let anyone separate me from the last piece of Edward that I had left.

Feeling the weight of the events that evening, as well as the late hour, I crept back down to my room. I dressed and cleaned up for bed, knowing that in a few short hours, I would need to be up again for the milking, making breakfast and ensuring the children did their chores.

Just before I dimmed the lantern I had set on my bedside table, I looked at the framed photo of Jacob and me from September 25th, 1935. It had been taken ten weeks after I had finally escape from Volterra Academy, five weeks since I had chanced a meeting with Jacob on a muddy back road, and one week before my twins were born. With my head tucked into a stylish hat and my face partially concealed by a flimsy veil, I knew the shadow of a smile that graced my lips hadn't reached my eyes. Jacob on the other hand, had his signature toothy, mile-wide grin as he gazed down at me.

In the image, my left arm is linked through Jacob's and my right hand is resting on my belly. I can still recall the guilt I felt as a singular thought worked through my head, while the photographer took the photo of my the man who would become my companion, my best friend, my lover and my closest confidant.

_I wish I were with Edward._

With that in mind, I dimmed the light and spent a restless night tossing and turning, hearing Edward cry out my name.


	10. Chapter 10

Stephenie Meyer wrote Twilight, and thought up most of these characters, not me. The plot is mine however, as are Anthony, Charlotte and Sarah.

Thanks to blk3660 for pre-reading!

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><p>BPOV<p>

I woke up the next morning feeling groggy and fatigued. A headache pounded at the back of my head but I willed it away. As always, there was too much work to do and too little time in which to finish it. I rolled over and opened the pocket watch that I kept on my bedside table. _4:15AM. _I had 15 minutes before I needed to get up and going, but I knew if I gave in, I would most likely fall back asleep.

I rolled out of bed, and noticed my clothing strewn across the floor. The memories of last night flooded my mind: Anthony rushing in, telling me heard singing on the road; me with my shotgun putting on my bravest act, while inside I trembled with fear that we had been discovered; seeing Edward's face, and feeling the stirrings of emotions I hadn't felt in years; running home, remembering the past, and checking on the children, who would never let me forget him.

I stretched slightly, shook my head to clear myself of my thoughts and began to mentally compile my list for the day. First, I'll put out the oatmeal and a couple of eggs, then head to the barn. Anthony will meet me out there to milk and feed, and Charlotte will mind Sarah, finish breakfast and cook up the eggs. We'll bring in some of the milk, and then we'll have time to bathe before we are off to church. I reworked my list again in my head, still knowing that I needed to be out to the barn in a few minutes. Sunday may be a day of rest for the Lord, but he must have forgotten to tell cows. For a farmer, every day is a work day.

I busied myself getting dressed into my work clothes, adding in every extra task I could think of so that I wouldn't have to think of _him. _The one person I never thought I would see again. His spirit haunted me from the pages of the newspaper, as he lived the life I thought we would have together. Instead, my fate took a different path while he lived the live he was born to live, with another woman beside him.

I stepped outside into the still-frozen spring air, the grass frosted and crunching under my feet. I made it over to the water pump that was located just a few feet from the house. After a few solid pumps, frigid water began to surge from the spout, and in an act of self-flagellation, and to clear my thoughts and refrain from sulking about the past, I quickly stuck my left arm, and then my right under the cold liquid, until my arms were freezing and red from the water, and my mind was clear. I rapidly ran my hands over my face and took a deep cleansing breath of Berkshire mountain air before I continued on my way to the barn.

I loved the barn. While most people might be turned off by the musty smell of animals, it was a source of comfort for me. For years I have been doing the barn work – feeding, milking, and mucking out – and I knew I did a good job because my animals thrived. My cows gave lots of milk, my chickens lots of eggs, and my sheep has the finest, softest wool around. I took a lot of pride in my animals, because I knew that my hard work was obvious through them. Unlike my former life when appearances and acquaintances and family names determined your worth, here my work thrived without bias.

Upon entering the barn, I took a narrow hallway to the right, where my chickens clucked softly in the coop, and my head rooster crowed impatiently for me to let open the door. As soon as I stepped through, I opened the hatch and the rooster bolted from the barn, announcing his presence to the barnyard and beyond. Most people saw roosters as being cocky and proud. I always thought of them as insecure, because they felt they needed to take every moment to announce their presence and mark their territory over their flock of chickens. I owned two roosters for a flock of 30 hens, and still they fought over who was king. _Men._

I tossed some of the grain and wheat hulls into round dishes that worked as feeders, and rinsed them before I gave the birds their clean water. Chickens were useful, providing meat and eggs, and even feathers for new pillows, but I didn't like them much. They were messy with their food, their droppings got everywhere, and they acted like they didn't care about anything else in the world. Except Jasmine. Jasmine was _my_ chicken, who every morning clucked around my feet until I gave her a pat on the head. She was also my best producer of chicks, but that could have been because I coddled her so.

Scratching her throat as I knew she liked it, I carried on with my task. I could hear the cattle lowing in the back of the barn.

I whipped through feeding the sheep, expertly tucking the right amount of hay into their troughs and refilling their water. I could see that a thin sheet of ice had formed over their water bucket last night, but it wasn't anything to worry about, they could have easily broken through the bit of ice with their noses. The nights were still cold, so it must have dipped to freezing in the barn. It certainly wasn't as bad as the winter, when I had to wake up at all hours to break through the thick ice that had formed on their water. The sheep were fine with the cold, but they couldn't drink a block of ice. My two rams brayed at me to be let outside, but it was too early. The pasture still had a thick layer of frost over the grass that wouldn't melt until sunrise, and even then, sheep were prone to the parasites that were transferred from the moisture on the grass.

Second last, I stopped in at my best friends in the barn – Billy and Charlie. I bought these two from the auctions almost seven years ago, and Charlotte and Anthony insisted that I name them after their grandfathers in memoriam. Although they had never met Charlie, I supposed they considered his presence to be here in some sort of spirit form. Who knows? Perhaps he had already passed and had made it his business to haunt me. Billy had passed on just months prior to buying the two draft horses and Jacob insisted that he would have been flattered. They were the right color, anyway. Charlie was chocolate brown, just like his eyes and hair had been, and Billy was coal black, like the hair he had had passed down to my late husband, and my littlest daughter. Billy had been my greatest supporter and defender when I married Jacob, and while I couldn't say much for my feelings toward human Charlie, my horse Charlie was as loyal as any.

I fed and watered the horses, and I briefly considered giving them a brush and curry, but I knew that Anthony loved so much to do it, so I left it for him. I moved onto my herd of cattle, gathering my clean buckets and rags on the way. I washed thoroughly with some water I'd brought in and some lye soap, and then headed to my cows.

I brushed down the right side of Molly, who always liked being milked first. Wiping down her udders and giving the bucket a final check, I laid down a small bowl to catch the first cups of milk. The first bit of milk was likely to be the dirtiest, so that went to the barn cats with their strong stomachs. Even before I had shown up, a sizable colony of cats had congregated around the cows. They had heard me enter the barn, and darned if they knew my chores better than I. I sunk down onto my milking stool, rested my head against Molly's flank, and began the familiar pulse and tug of my hands while the milk squirted into the ceramic bowl.

"I still can't believe you can get up every morning at this hour."

I nearly hit the rafters when I heard that voice. The barn was dim but my eyes had adjusted to the low light some time ago. Still, she must have chosen to sit in a shadow on purpose. Molly shifted and a few barn cats scurried away from her hooves as she regained her balance.

I righted myself on my stool again, and continued to milk. If I didn't finish in a timely manner Molly could get an infection. I tilted my head and saw Alice sitting on the wall that separated the sheep from the cattle. Her dainty legs were clad in tailored denim, and she even had red cotton work shirt on that was made for men, but she had apparently altered to fit snugly on her tiny frame.

"What has _you_ up so early?" I accused, "And when did you have time to tailor yourself such a fashionable set of work clothes?" I was wearing Jacob's old coveralls that I had taken in and altered, but it was nothing compared to Alice's outfit. She looked like she belonged in a magazine – if Harper's Bazaar ever did a fashion spread on farm women. I scoffed internally.

Alice hopped down from her perch, and pulled up the extra milking stool. Her she propped her elbows onto her knees and eyed me intensely, "I know, Isabella."

Molly grunted and kicked at my hand as I involuntarily squeezed too hard, "_What _did you just call me?"

"You can't hide from me anymore," I opened my mouth to protest, to explain the many, many reasons why she should be prying, but she continued by raising her hand, "Don't worry, I haven't told a soul. I don't know why you're hiding, but I can respect it. I've known you long enough that you wouldn't lie without a very good reason," She eyed me pointedly, and I ducked my head in shame.

Yes, I had good reason for keeping my real identity a secret, but in the end, I had to keep myself from people who cared about me.

"Alice, there are things that happened…and, let's just say that it's safer if you stay out of it. I wouldn't want to put you into any danger on my behalf."

Alice nodded her head thoughtfully, though she could never fathom my dilemma. She tilted her head at me pursed her lips, "You should tell him, though. I think he deserves an explanation."

"Who?"

"Edward."

I started to choke on my own saliva. It wasn't possible that she knew.

"I don't know what you are talking about," I countered, "I don't owe him anything,"

"Not even the lives of the children you created?"

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It was getting to be too much. She shouldn't have known this. It was dangerous for her, it was dangerous for me, and it was capable of destroying…I couldn't even think the words.

"Does he know that I have…?"

"No," Alice answered, guessing my train of thought. "Jasper told him nothing about you, or your kids. But he told Jasper a lot about you. He cared deeply for you, Bella."

"I didn't – don't belong in his world. He made that clear."

Alice tapped her chin with her right index finger, "I don't know. I meant that, I _really _don't know. I can only piece together bits and pieces from what I've figured out over the years, and what I overheard last night. But I do know this: He was acting like a man who cared last night, with no reason to do so than his own genuine intentions." Alice paused, and scuffled the ground with the toe of her boot. "He's a good man, Bells. He saved Jasper's life over there during the war." The last part came out as a whisper.

"I know." I answered simply, because with all the uncertainties that surrounded my time with him, this was something I had never doubted. I didn't understand why he would propose to Lauren Mallory, or why he didn't answer my letters. I had believed for a long time that he fell out of love with me, but I had never once believed that it was because he was bad. If anything, it was me who was lacking. I was the coward who wasn't able to tell him I was pregnant. I was the shy girl who wanted to please the world and agreed to go to "Finishing School" without a fight. It has been made painfully obvious to me where I belong in life. I was nothing but a poor widow of a farmer. In my own eyes and those in my life, I lived well, though I would have been seen as poor and decrepit in the eyes of anyone like Edward and his kin.

Turning, I focused on Molly, making sure she was milked thoroughly and in a timely manner. When she was finished, I untethered her, patted her flank and she ambled her way back to the stall. I looked onto the next cow in wait, _Renee. _

"I can't tell you what to do, B, but I can tell you this," Alice had stood now, her chin jutted out and her eyes determined, "I don't know what it's like to be in your shoes, but I do know what it's like to be in mine. I grew up without a father. I only knew stories of a Mr. Porter from Ohio who wooed my mother. I know he was a kind man, he was generous, and that he loved her. That's all I know and all I'll ever find out. Any other information was taken with my mother to her grave, and not a single day goes by," Alice's voice rose and she emphasized her words with a finger held up to me in the air, "that I don't wonder if there was a father out there that could have loved me back. Now don't get me wrong, I love Carlisle, and Esme too. But they can't erase the questions I have, the mystery of my roots, of my parentage and the ache that somewhere out there, maybe there's a man that aches for me." I ignored the crack in her voice at the end, as it was obvious that Alice tried to disguise it with a cough.

My mind flashed with images of Anthony and Charlotte, their questioning faces when I had wanted to tell them more about their father but between my fear of being known, and guilt in dishonoring Jacob, I had never been able to do so. Whenever I mentioned their father they both held an odd expression of hope, longing, and emptiness. Although they remained hopeful that I would tell them more, they missed the experience of him, of knowing him, of loving such a wonderful person and having him love them back. Tears sprung in my eyes for all that they had missed in not knowing him.

"I don't know the reasons that you hide, Bells, but I don't blame you. But unless you fear _him_, which I don't think you do, your children need a chance to know him. Don't you think they deserve it? Don't you think _he _deserves the right to know those amazing children?"

"He thinks I'm dead!" I blurted out, my face colored in shame. But I realized as I looked at Alice, that she already knew this. "How much do you know?" I asked.

"I know he thinks you died. I know that he has mourned for you. I know that you still hold a place in his heart that can never be filled by another," I let out a deep sob at her last statement. It wasn't true, was it? I had always imagined that my place in his life had long been filled. That truth kept me sane for years, the knowledge that somewhere out there, Edward lived on, and he was happy.

"Edward Masen," I whispered.

"I know his name," Alice countered indignantly.

"Then you must have read about him, right? Edward Masen, the man who is expected to proposed very soon to none other than Tanya Denali? The man who is swiftly climbing to the top of New York's ladder of the social elite? He doesn't love me, Alice." I looked down and pulled at my rough coveralls. "He loved a girl he once knew, from a very different place, a very different life." As if Renee herself had heard me, her namesake cow lifted tail and dropped a patty, as if to emphasize the nature of my present lifestyle.

Alice smiled sadly, "I don't know how he would feel about meeting you, but what about the children?"

I remembered Elizabeth. I remembered her threats about contacting Edward, or anyone who knew him. _He'll hate you if he finds out, _she warned me, _and it would take nothing to get those children from you and put them into a proper family._ I knew she could do it too. If the Masen family ever came after me for the children, I would barely have two coins to rub together in which to fight. They could throw money at the best lawyer in country and not bat an eyelash about the cost. I collapsed onto my stool and cried freely, realizing how close I had been to jeopardizing my children's lives. "They'll take them," I mumbled through my tear-streaked hands, "they'll take Anthony and Charlotte, and then what will I have?" Not only will my two children be gone, but my last remaining piece of Edward would be taken as well.

I felt a soft hand touch my shoulder. "I heard him last night," she reminded me, "Yes, I think he would be shocked to find out that you are indeed alive and well. And if it was me, I would be angry and hurt to discover that such a big part of me was kept away all this time," Alice smiled knowingly at me. She was aware that part of my silence was not only due to Elizabeth Masen, but on the demands that Jacob placed on how much I spoke of Edward. "But I think in the end, you have to let go of this fear, do the right thing and trust that it will work out. Trust in the good person you know he is.

"I've known about your real name for over six years now, and I've only heard it spoken once." My head snapped up, and Alice looked sheepish, "It was just after I arrived. I was hiding in the hayloft. You and Jacob didn't know I was there. I didn't know why he would call you Isabella, but after hearing Edward speak last night, and remembering what Jasper had told me of the Dr. Masen in France, it became clear. He's a good person. He will have feelings over this, but I don't think he would ever hurt you on purpose."

I eyed her skeptically. His intentions weren't my issue. He had hurt me before, albeit unintentionally, and I wouldn't have put anything past that mother of his in getting what she wanted.

Alice's expression sobered, and she took another angle. "Listen, if it helps, maybe we can talk to Carlisle and Esme? We don't have to tell them anything, it's just –"

"They know," I interrupted her curtly. I looked at her hurt face and explained, "They don't know everything. I wasn't trying to keep it from just you – they found out on their own, and I was forced to explain…again to protect myself. They know that I have some relationship with the Masen family that is…strained. They aren't aware that I knew Edward. They know I keep my identity secret, but they don't know my real name.

"Isabella," Alice stated.

I nodded, both relishing and dreading the sound of that name on her lips, "Isabella Marie Swan." It had been so long, too long since I had said that name out loud. It felt foreign on my tongue. Like I was saying the name of a girl I knew long, long ago.

"You know what the right thing is, B."

I nodded, and was about to offer another round of reasons why I couldn't do as she asked, but inside, I was tired. I was tired of living in secret. I was tired of honoring Jacob's request that I not speak Edward's name. And as much as it frightened me not to, I was tired of arguing my way out of approaching Edward. Though my mind told me of the dangers, I felt a pull toward him, a magnetic connection that I hadn't felt in so very long.

"I'll think about it. Alice. But it will be me, _not _them."

"He's staying until Monday. Carlisle wants to monitor his injuries." I winced, remembering his fall in the woods. _How I wanted to care for him._

I nodded mutely, and I heard the barn door slam and its hinges creak, "Anthony's here. You better move along. He'll wonder why you're in the barn at this hour, and I don't want to lie to him."

Alice nodded but didn't move. I sighed and let my head fall back, "I said I'll think about it. Come back after breakfast hour, before church. Now go!" She flashed a triumphant grin at me before scuttling off through the back door, just as Anthony rounded the corner with sleepy eyes and mussed hair.

"Mama?" Anthony questioned in his quiet voice. His voice had been changing lately. The high-pitched tenor of his boyhood voice was surely being replaced by deep velvet that was designed for melting hearts. Anthony was quite musical, _just like his dad,_ I thought, and I was sure that his voice would mature into a lovely baritone.

"Are you alright?" His simple question brought me back to the here and now, and I realized that I must look a sight. I touched my face, wet from crying, and I could imagine the red blotches on my face. I hated lying to him, but I couldn't tell him what Alice had said.

Anthony looked on, anxious for my answer, "Yes, my boy I'm fine. Renee here swished her tail in my face and it hit me square in the eye. It hurt a bit and my eyes watered, but no harm done." I gave him an affectionate squeeze and saw his body relax. "Charlotte is up?" I asked him.

"I started the oatmeal," he answered evasively. Usually one child helped me in the barn and the other in the kitchen in the mornings, so I looked at him perplexedly. "She was up late with Sarah," he explained, "She needs to sleep." He looked down and away, looking for something to occupy his vision, an attempt to avoid a compliment. His gaze centered on the dust on the top of the stall gate, where he began to draw circles with his finger.

That was my boy. Of course, he was as typical as other boys his age. Last week he was punished at school for pulling Mary Beth's pigtail, and he's been in a scuffle or two, but at his core he has a heart of gold. When Jacob was drafted, he told Anthony that he was now man of the house; a responsibility he took very seriously.

"Thank you Anthony. What would I do without you?" I ruffled his hair, and his abashed expression turned pensive. I looked at him for a moment but he made no move to share, so I turned back to milking. If he wanted to talk, he would in his own time.

But as I continued to milk Jenna, the third of our four cows, I could still feel his presence behind me. After a few moments, without breaking rhythm, I pulled the stool closer and patted the seat. I turned my head toward my son as he sat down, rubbing the fray of a hole in his pants with his thumb and forefinger.

Finally, he spoke, "Do you think…do you think he would have liked me?" Anthony asked carefully. I thought I knew about whom he was talking, but I needed to be sure. I was finished milking Jenna, so I loosened her head from the tether and patted her flank. I sat back onto the milking stool, and ran my fingers through his hair at the temple, asking him silently if he was thinking of Edward. Anthony gave a short nod.

_And not a single day goes by that I don't wonder if there was a father out there that could have loved me back. _I couldn't help but think of Alice's words, and how true they sang. And I realized, I didn't have to go as far as Alice's story to understand, I need only look at my own. The man who loved me, who raised me, and ultimately gave me and my mother up in desperation.

I considered Charlie's last words to me. "_You be a good girl, you hear? Listen to your mother, do your homework and don't give any trouble. Don't you worry about me," he whispered, wiping tears from my cheeks, "I'll be fine here. I ain't got much for you and your ma, but I have enough to keep an old man going. Run along now," After that, I pulled away with Renee and Judge Dwyer in a shiny black car, and never looked back._

I became aware of the anger that I held toward my father all this time. I didn't lose him to illness, and he didn't fall out of love with my mother. But apparently it was alright to give us – no, _sell us - _to another man. I was a piece of property, a bargaining chip. It seems that's what I've been destined to be since I left Forks, Washington. I have been treated as nothing but a pawn in someone else's elaborate game of chess. As an adult and a mother, I didn't agree with my father's choice, but I could understand his desire to keep me safe. All these years it seemed, I had led myself to believe that he had never loved me.

I knew then, what I needed to do. If I didn't approach Edward and tell him about his children, then I was only passing on the hand that I had been dealt. Elizabeth Masen continued to play me like Judge Dwyer had in Seattle. I refused to be anyone's bargaining chip any longer. Although I couldn't just run up to Edward and greet him like an old friend, I knew without a doubt that I had to give him and give my children a chance to know each other. What happened beyond that was out of my control, but I knew that if I didn't try, I would be no better than Charlie and Renee Swan.

I had to explain my story to Carlisle and Esme and to my children before I met him. My greatest allies had to know what the stakes were before I revealed myself to anyone. I would see Esme at church, so I would try and speak with her then, and I could set the ball rolling for something that my children deserved. They deserved to know their father, if he was willing to meet them.

I looked up at my sweet boy, concern etched over his features. "He would love you Anthony," I answered, "I'm sure of it."


	11. Chapter 11

Many thanks to the lovely Blk3660 for pre-reading. All mistakes are my own.

I don't own Twilight, but I'd be fooling myself if I didn't admit that Edward owns me.

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><p>EPOV<p>

I woke up with a throbbing headache and a stinging temple. Before I opened my eyes, my fingers sought out the source of my discomfort, and I winced when they came into contact with a bandage on my forehead. The events of the night past flooded my memory, and I suddenly felt more awake and a little crazier than I had in years.

The image of the woman in my mind was fresh, but my greater fear was that my subconscious, once again, was manipulating reality. Although it hadn't happened since the war, I supposed it could come back at any moment. The heart wants what the heart wants. My heart still yearned for her, it seemed.

I decided that the best thing to do would be to put my mind at rest, confirm that the small brunette was indeed someone else who happened to conjure memories of my Isabella, and head back to New York. Despite my pragmatic approach, I couldn't help but feel disappointed in my course of action.

Many a time I had surmised that part of my problem was that there was no closure. There was no gravestone to visit or to place flowers, no memorial service. I didn't even have a newspaper clipping of her obituary. I had saved an article related to the train accident, but the details were vague and did little to settle all the questions that rattled in my brain. What had she been doing on that train? Why was she in New York State when she was attending school in Louisiana? Had she suffered? Was she happy before she died? _Did she think of me? _The last question, albeit the most selfish, was the most prominent in my mind when I thought of her death.

My mind started on its familiar circuit of questions and reflections, but was interrupted by a rap at the door. I looked around and realized that though the curtains were drawn, the sun was high enough in the sky that warm streaks of light peaked between the drapes and cast slices of sunshine onto the bedroom floor.

A second knock echoed through the room, and I found my voice, "One moment, please," the sound that came out was cracked and hoarse.

"Edward? It's me, Jasper." Lt. Whitlock's muffled voice filtered through the door, "I'll be back in ten minutes," he announced, before I listened to his uneven gait move away from the door.

I looked around and noticed that there was aspirin and a glass of water on my nightstand. I had to give the Cullens credit; they were certainly hospitable folk, what with the folly of my actions the night passed. I swallowed the pills and most of the water, and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

Since I had apparently slept in my underclothes, I searched the room with my eyes and saw that my pants and shirt were neatly folded and laid across a chair. I stumbled out of bed and dressed myself, and then fished the watch from my pocket. One in the afternoon! I startled with the revelation that I had been sleeping for over twelve hours. I still had to drive home! At this rate, I wouldn't make it back into the city until well past dinnertime. I hurriedly shrugged on my jacket, and then headed over to the mirror that hung on the wall opposite the bed.

My hair was its usual combination of chaos and disarray, and my eyes were shadowed with deep purple bags. A strip of cotton secured a bandage over my left temple, and I could see where a bit of fresh blood had soaked through this morning when I had accidentally poked it too hard. I would have to change the bandage at some point, because I couldn't walk around New York, let alone the hospital looking like a patient myself.

Before long, a gentle rap on the door informed me that my time was up. With one last glance in the mirror, I crossed the room and opened up the door for Jasper, to find that he was also accompanied by Dr. Cullen.

"Dr. Cullen, Jasper. Good….er," I ran my hand through my hair in embarrassment for sleeping half the day away. Carlisle interrupted my stuttering before I could continue.

"It's fine son. You took quite a fall last night and you seemed to need the rest. No harm done." Carlisle gripped my shoulder and looked into my eyes briefly. There was a flash of emotion that was difficult to decipher, and as quickly as I noticed it, it was replaced the stern detached look that doctors give their patients. "Have a seat Edward…" He looked to be forming his words, "I'd like to look at your head, if I may." I nodded in acquiescence, but somehow got the feeling that inspecting my head wound was a rouse for something else on his mind.

Jasper followed in behind Carlisle, carrying three scotch glasses and a full bottle in his hands. He shrugged innocently at me when I eyed his instruments and nodded over to the nightstand where he placed the glasses and bottle.

Carlisle flipped the light on and motioned for me to sit down. He carefully unwrapped the bandage, and prodded my wound, causing me to wince a couple of times.

After a few minutes of silence, Carlisle confirmed that the wound was superficial, seemed clean enough and reiterated the instruction I knew all too well for keeping a wound clean and infection free. I remained seated, expecting the men to leave me in peace, but instead they stood in the room shifting uneasily from foot to foot.

I suddenly realized that I had most likely overstayed my welcome, and Dr. Cullen and Lt. Whitlock were here to see me out. Since I hadn't planned on staying the night in this residence, I simply reached for the few personal items that had been placed on the nightstand. Standing to go, I offered my gratitude, "I want you to know how grateful I feel for your hospitality last night, gentlemen. I have a long trip ahead of me, but I have a favor to ask of you. It seems last night I frightened a woman on the road. It was dark out and I didn't realize I had wandered away from your property, Dr. Cullen." I nodded toward the doctor, and the look that passed between himself and Lt. Whitlock didn't escape my notice.

"I'm feeling awful about the fright I gave her, and if you wouldn't mind I'd like to apologize in person," Dr. Cullen opened his mouth to speak, and I imagined it was to offer some writing paper, but I knew I had to step in and decline. I had to see this woman, once and for all, or I knew I would continue to wonder of her identity.

"Please Dr. Cullen; I would like to meet her face to face. I feel the need to put her mind at ease that there are no dangerous men wandering through her woods." Carlisle cast one last wary glance at Jasper, so I implored him, "Please Carlisle. I would feel like less than a gentleman if I weren't to speak with her."

"It is certainly possible for you to meet with her," Jasper interjected, effectively silencing Carlisle. He seemed certain that he knew of the woman I met, which I supposed didn't seem all that unusual, since she was a neighbor of Glendale "but there are some…details that you need to know before hand." Jasper's eyes narrowed in thought as I nodded my head in acquiescence. I couldn't imagine why I would need to be prepared. Perhaps the woman is unstable, or has a strange phobia? That could explain the reticence I sense in the men. I squared my shoulders in preparation.

"Ms. Black, it seems," Jasper raised his eyebrows as though he were surprised himself, "has a colorful history that she has, until recently kept to herself." I furrowed my brow, and Jasper continued, "I'm surprised myself. But she has been a good friend to this family for many years, and when she disclosed certain aspects of her past and implored to us that she had been discreet about them for her own safety, I believed her. She is a loyal friend, and I know she wouldn't hide something if it weren't important." Jasper smirked slightly before he turned to me again with a somber expression.

"Ms. Black came to us after experiencing something horrific, something that no one, and certainly not a lady should ever have to live through," Carlisle interjected. My mind began to reel with possibilities. Was she assaulted, was her…purity taken without her consent? Sensing my distress Carisle continued, "Edward, I can see where your mind is going and I will put you at ease. It was nothing of the sort. Marie Black, it seems, escaped from a situation in which she was being held under duress. She was being asked – no –she was being coerced into to making a choice she couldn't live with, so she ran. In doing so, she upset some people who could…make her life very difficult, so when we met her, she had given us an assumed name. We became acquainted with Ms. Black just after she met her then future husband, Mr. Jacob Black. Apparently, Jacob knew most of the story to which we have just been made privy. It seems that Ms. Black has found it critical that she make us aware of her history. In her words she told us that what once made her feel safe has now begun to feel like prison from which she escaped."

I sat back in my chair and contemplated this information, still without understanding how it affected me. Truthfully, I could see how it may have scared the lady to see a man walking down her road in the dark, but I still wasn't clear why I needed to know all of this. Surely I could apologize to Ms. Black – her chosen identity - and I could go back to New York knowing I had calmed her fears, and she could go back to her life knowing that I wasn't a trespasser of the malicious sort. I rubbed my chin thoughtfully, and raised an eyebrow toward him. Surely there must be more to this story.

Carlisle eyed the carpet thoughtfully, and rubbed the back of his neck before proceeding. He steepled his fingers while he rested his elbows on his knees, and gave a resigned look to Jasper.

Jasper tilted his head at me, as if gauging my mood, and spoke quietly, "Edward, I believe the previous identity of Ms. Black may be of some importance to you." Jasper swallowed thickly. It appeared as though neither of these men wanted to get to the heart of this story. There was some nervousness in revealing to me the apparently important identity of the woman who reminded me so much of my Isabella.

And as though my brain itself were being unlocked like a safe, I could hear the bolts in my mind sliding into place.

I met a woman on the road last night, who reminded me of my Isabella.

The woman _knew my name_. It wasn't the presence of a stranger that caused her to run.

Ms. Black, the woman I met on the road has been living under an assumed name for her own safety.

Ms. Black's previous identity was of importance to me.

My mind scanned for other people who may have fallen out of my life, people who moved or relocated from whom I had never heard. But in truth, there was only the memory of one person who would haunt me. Only one who would hold any meaning. My heart clenched as I asked my one and only question about this mystery woman.

"Carlisle," I did my best to keep a tremble from my voice, "When did you meet Miss Black?"

Clearing his throat, Dr. Cullen responded in a voice just above a whisper, "1935, son."

"Do you remember the day? The month?"

"Well," he paused, "It was shortly after labor day. Jacob had disclosed that her birthday was not far off and she had scowled as Esme proposed a birth-

I didn't need to hear the rest. The final piece of this mystery had slid into place. I knew, almost for certain whom Ms. Black was. I had to see her, I had to know. My jaw tensed and my mind raced with questions. Held under duress? She fled? Why did she not come back to me? _Why did she marry another?_ Learning the answers might just kill me, but that pain would only be second to finding out that I am wrong, and that Ms. Black is not my Isabella.

"Isabella Swan," I spoke lowly, carefully. I kept my head bowed in an effort to remain calm and hide the tension that I was certain was rolling off of me.

I heard nothing.

"Isabella. Swan." I repeated her name a little louder the second time, and looked up. I saw two men gazing at me, ashen faced, sympathetic, and resigned.

That's all I needed to know before I bolted from my seat and down the stairs.

As I reached the fork in the road, I could hear the footfalls and pleas of Carlisle and Jasper as they struggled to keep up to me. Fortunately for me I was athletic and a fast runner, and since Carlisle was about 25 years my senior and Jasper had his leg injury, I was able to keep a good distance from me. I wasn't sure of their intentions, but no one was keeping me from my Isabella. Not this time or any time again.

I rounded the trees that had shrouded me the night before. I didn't have the time or the wherewithal to consider how the looked in the day, as my eyes were trained on the house that I knew to be hers. A million questions and emotions raced through my mind, and a large part of me feared that she didn't want to see me. For all the hundreds, thousands of times that I imagined this moment, there is nothing that could have prepared me for the feeling that maybe, _maybe_ things weren't as they seemed. And most surprising of all, I was angry as much as I was fearful.

That thought stopped me dead in my tracks. The gaits of Carlisle and Jasper became louder until they stopped behind me and I felt two sets of strong hands grasp my shoulders and biceps. I didn't struggle.

"I'm angry," I informed them.

"I don't blame you," said Carlisle, "But you know you can't storm in there and confront her like this, angry –

"And sweating, and wild-eyed," Jasper finished. I looked down at my trembling hands, and I couldn't help but agree. I desperately wanted to see her, but I wasn't really sure why. I knew that at this moment anything could come out of my mouth and I couldn't let it be something I regret.

Begrudgingly, I sat down on a rock and rested my head in my hands. I looked down at the ground between my feet and contemplated all the emotions that were erupting within me. I failed miserably in sorting out all my feelings, which frankly was an uncomfortable subject for me. I didn't analyze feelings; I suppressed them. It was how I survived.

Forgoing the tumult of emotions, I began to dissect the facts that I knew. Using the toe of my shoe, I ticked off what I knew.

One: Isabella was alive.

Two: She was hiding from someone.

Three: She never came to find me - the man who had promised to his life to her.

Four: She was living under another name, and was apparently _widowed._

Five: I wasn't sure if she wanted to even see me.

Six: I likely never would have known about her, had I not found her by accident.

I turned to Carlisle, "She doesn't even want to see me, does she?" I couldn't keep the hurt from my voice.

Carlisle sighed, turned away and looked further down the road, "It's not that, son. She had some…things to consider. I don't take it lightly when I tell you that she was in danger. There are others involved, who could be equally as hurt as she."

My toe erased the lined I had made in dirt. I paused and looked up. In a choke voice I asked, "Children?" I almost didn't want to know the answer.

Carlisle didn't answer out loud, but his head dipped and bobbed slightly, and I knew.

_Isabella had run away for her own safety, and had children with another man._ My heart would have broken again if I wasn't so overwhelmed with all this information.

"Jasper? My voice scratched, "I think I'm gonna need that scotch now." Jasper produced the half bottle of scotch from behind his back, and didn't appear surprised as I took the bottle by the next and drank back three large mouthfuls. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I looked down the road and realized that the woman I had mourned, dreamed of, begged for and cried over was not more than a hundred yards from where I sat.

How? How was I going to approach her now? _"It's very nice to see you Isabella, all this time I thought you'd died. I bet you didn't know I've been pining for you since you left me, did you? Oh that's right, you should know, _since I asked you to marry me!"

Ok, well there was one emotion I couldn't ignore.

I felt like I should have been relieved. A part of me died the day we heard the news from Mrs. Dwyer. As much as a part of me felt joy that she was alive, others were overriding it. Confusion, anger, jealousy. And I had too many questions to count.

"She's written you a letter." My head snapped up at this piece of information. Why hadn't he said something?

"What hadn't you said something?" I held my hand out anxiously.

Carlisle pulled an envelope from his coat pocket, "I had every intention to, but you ran out here and…" he trailed of and waved his hand, because we all knew the rest. All three of us were present when I snapped and ran off. "She didn't know if you wanted to see her, so she thought she would pen a few words, and give you the choice."

Why wouldn't I want to see her? I mean, yes, I was angry. I think any man in my position would be. But not see her? I wouldn't be able to leave without seeing her. It would be like knowingly leaving behind my very breath. I knew I wouldn't leave Vermont until I had been face to face with Isabella.

"I want to see her," I confirmed. Carlisle nodded and placed the letter in my hand. "I think I need some privacy, though."

"Certainly," Carlisle replied, and led us back to the Cullen's home.

Back in my newly adopted room, I sat at the secretary desk and looked at the white envelope. I tear streaked down my face as my finger traced my first name that was neatly written on the back. Just seeing something so simple brought back a barrage of memories. If I had doubted Isabella's resurrection before, I didn't now. It was, without a doubt, her handwriting on the envelope. While I was expectant of the contents, for a moment I just held the paper and wished I could slip back in time. I closed my eyes and envisioned myself at the desk in my room, opening a letter that she had snuck into my school bag. Often her letters to me were little bit like a journal, and I loved them for that reason. They weren't fancy or flowery, but intimate in that she wanted to share everything with me. She would tell me mundane things about her evening or weekend, when we weren't able to meet up with each other. She would apologize profusely for boring me with the "inconsequentials" of her days, but her writings for me were like poetry. It confirmed to me that she was thinking of me during our time apart.

Other times, she would enclose bits of prose that she had written that would often leave me heated and breathless. In those moments I was glad she wasn't with me, for surely I would have ravaged her in a very ungentlemanly way. Her letters would hint that she wished we would go further physically, but I was so frightened of her regretting going too far with me, that I had promised myself that I wouldn't progress us until I had made some sort of commitment. This had led to the evening of our engagement.

Recognizing that these memories were only allowing me to procrastinate due to my own anxiety, I took a moment to lift the envelope to my nose, and I inhaled.

Lemon verbena, grass, ivory soap. My heart sank. It didn't smell anything like the Isabella that I remembered.

Before I could talk myself from going any further, I sliced open the top of the envelope with the letter opener that Carlisle had provided. Inside was a single sheet of thin brown lined paper, like those that a child might use in school. I slowly unfolded the paper and laid it flat on the desk.

_Edward,_

_I hope this letter finds you well, considering the circumstances in which we have become reacquainted. If you are reading this, then certainly Dr. Cullen has confirmed that it is indeed I that you met on the road last night. I can certainly imagine that I am alive comes as a shock to you -_

"You can't imagine, Isabella," I muttered to myself, "If you only knew…you would have never disappeared on me." I carried on with the letter.

-_and I'm sorry for any distress that finding me has caused you. I only hope that you can trust me when I say that lives – including my own – were at risk if I were to stay where I was. The presumption of my death was not planned, but conveniently allowed me to live many years without fear of being found by others who would not take kindly to the fact that I had disappeared. _

_To say that I am full of regret is an understatement. If I could go back, there are many, many steps that I took that I would have done differently. No matter, it seems we must leave time travel to science fiction, and focus on the present to reward us in the future._

_But I do not regret that I met you on the road last night. I am sorry that I approached you in the manner in which I did, and I hope you can understand that I am not accustomed or welcoming to strangers walking at night on our property. I truly did not realize it was you. But in the end, I'm glad I didn't know. Had I known, I don't think I would have had the courage to approach you._

I took a minute to ponder her first words. She felt she made mistakes. She didn't regret meeting me, even if it was by accident. However this only concluded that she had no intention of contacting me. As we had a mutual acquaintance in Carlisle, it wouldn't have been difficult for her to know of me, and know how to contact me. Scanning the last few lines, I didn't like how she referred to the property as "ours" with whom did she share it? Did she speak of her husband? As I thought of that, I began to crumple the edges of the paper in my hands, so I forced myself to relax and continue reading.

_I am very different from the girl you knew. It's difficult to explain all the ways that I, and my way of living would be foreign to you. I don't live a bad life, but for someone of your status it may not seem adequate. I can assure you that I have all I need, and no reason to ask for more. _

_I did not take the decision to disappear lightly. It is a choice that has weighed on me for the past 12 years. It is, however, a choice I would make again if I needed to. I can't explain more in this letter, but perhaps I can share with you in person._

_I am fully aware that I am in no position to ask you for favors, but I must. I must ask that you keep my existence a secret from everyone you know, save Dr. and Mrs. Cullen, Alice Cullen, and Jay Whitlock. Until this morning, they did not know of my true identity and history, and they are the closest people in my life. It is imperative that I remain hidden, or I may be forced to run again. I don't know how I would do that, but only that I would succeed, as the consequences of failing would be too dire. _

"No. No, no, no. I've found you, I'll never risk you leaving again," I mumbled softly, sadly.

_I would like to sit and speak with you. I am sure you have lots of questions, and from what Lt. Whitlock and Alice said, you were quite distraught. I truly apologize for how this has come about, but I would like to be able to sit and offer you some sort of explanation._

_I don't know what time or day is best for you. I feel badly about asking you to return to Vermont from New York City, but I simply do not have the means or opportunity to travel at this time. I hope you understand that if you would like to meet, it would need to happen here._

_Please consider my request. I would forever wonder if you simply moved on with your life and made no attempt to sit with me, although I would understand the reasons that you may not be interested in seeing me again. You can contact me through Mrs. Esme Cullen to arrange a time at your convenience._

_Sincerely,_

_Marie Black_

_P.S. Please burn this letter when you are finished with it. I cannot afford to have it fall into the wrong hands._

With my hands shaking, I folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. I glanced at the fireplace that still had embers smoldering its depths, but instead I placed the letter in my vest pocket. I had read the letter, but I was in no way finished with it.

Taking a deep breath, I realized that I was as ready as I ever was to see Isabella. I don't think one is every truly prepared to face someone under these circumstances, but having read her letter I could hear the honesty in her voice. She allowed herself to appear dead for a reason I do not yet know, but I know that it was important to her. The Isabella that I knew would not have done something so extreme unless circumstances called for it.

I allowed my mind to wander back to the feelings I had. The anger had dissipated some. I still felt jealous for the man I would never meet; the man who was given the chance to make a family with Isabella. That was supposed to be _my _family. I briefly pondered how much his influence prevented her from contacting me. I shook my head to clear my negative thoughts.

No, If I were to meet Isabella – er, Marie- I shouldn't go in there with negativity. I was being given a second chance at something I never had – closure. Perhaps after I saw her, I could close that chapter on my life and carry on in a more genuine fashion. Maybe I could even allow myself to feel something for another woman, like Tanya for example.

It tore my heart, but I had to be resigned to the fact that I couldn't hope for anything more than an amicable reunion. I lived in New York, I worked in the best hospital in the state – possibly the country – and I had social obligations that needed to be fulfilled. Isabella lived on a farm in Vermont as a widow with an assumed name. But beyond all that, she didn't seem interested in anything more than a chat.

No, my Isabella was no longer. Instead, I would be meeting Marie Black, and coming to terms with the fact that although the love of my life was not dead, she no longer existed. Perhaps now I could give her a proper good bye.

I headed downstairs and found Esme milling about in the sitting area dusting lamps and shelves. I briefly wondered where their help, Angela, was at this time of day. Regardless, I knocked on the doorframe to the sitting room and Esme whirled around with an excited, though not surprised, look on her face. I believed that she was waiting – no hoping – that I would descend and speak with her.

"Edward, so glad to see you are feeling better. How's your head?" Esme touched her own temple in reference.

"It's fine, thank you Esme. I was actually looking for you. I received a letter from…Ms. Black. It asked that I speak with you if I would like to meet her." Esme nodded and motioned for me to sit on the divan, to which I complied.

"I don't know what details you know," I began, "But I know that I can't return to New York until I see her." Despite my own pep talk, the thought of returning to New York after seeing her sent a shot of pain through my chest. I cleared my throat to loosen the tightness, to no avail.

"I would like to meet her as soon as possible. Do you know when she would be available?" I looked up expectantly at Mrs. Cullen, willing her to tell me that I could meet her right away.

"I believe Ms. Black said that supper time today would suffice, Edward." I felt a shock of excitement and nervousness at these words, as supper was less than an hour away, "So long as you are willing to wait that long and stay the night?" I nodded to her question. I knew I would stay all year if it meant I could see her. I couldn't leave her behind again.

"Very well, Ms. Black sups at 8pm." Esme finished with a smile, which turned to a chuckle at my confused expression. My heart sank in realization that I would have to wait another 2 hours to meet with her. "Yes, it seems late. Ms. Black does the chores on the farm before she eats. Such is farm life," Esme shrugged her shoulders, "I have saved some supper from last night for you, by the way."

"Very well, thank you Esme." I liked Esme. She reminded me of the good parts of my mother. She made me think of my childhood, when my mother would read to me from books before bed time, and would make sure that supper was saved when I was occupied with school work and the antics of my youth. Her smile was genuine and I could tell she really cared.

Just then, Jasper and Carlisle walked in, and nodded as Esme informed them that I would be meeting Ms. Black for supper. Carlisle then followed Esme into the kitchen, and there proceeded a string of murmurs and giggles that I tried my best to block out of my mind.

Jasper, however, was stilling hanging around awkwardly at the doorway to the sitting room. I looked up at him with a raised eyebrow in question as to what was on his mind, "A franc for your thoughts, Lt. Whitlock?" This had been a common phrase between the two of us in France when it seemed that something was weighing on the other's mind.

Jasper grinned, and then his features sobered. He exhaled sharply and then took a seat opposite to me. He perched on the edge of the divan and rested his elbows on his knees, staring at an unknown object on the floor. His eyes then looked up at me, though his head never moved.

"You know, Alice is the love of my life." I nodded my head figuring as much. As happy as I was for them, I couldn't ignore the envy that raced through me. "She sees Bells as a big sister of sorts. She was the first person who gained Alice's trust after her mom died and she was sent here." I stayed silent, as I was sure there was more to this story. "Because of this, I have a deep respect for Ms. Black. She is central to Alice's life, so she is to mine as well.

"You and I go way back, and we've been through a lot," He paused and looked out the window, "So I am hoping you'll respect my wishes and be gentle and kind with Bells, no matter what. I feel protective of her, especially since Jacob...well since she's been widowed." He looked up at me with a challenge in his eyes, "I can't let you hurt her."

I didn't know where this speech had come from, or what impression I gave that I was out to harm Isabella, but anger flared inside of me at him implying that I was capable of such a thing.

Unclenching my jaw I stated in a steady voice, "I can assure you Lt. Whitlock that I have no intention whatsoever of hurting Ms. Black. I don't think I can fully express how important she was to me. I won't hurt her."

"I believe you, Edward," Jasper looked me straight in the eye, "and I hope it's not just guilt coming through when you speak, but something in your voice tells me you will be good for her."

"Guilt? Why….?" I trailed off, not knowing why I would be guilty, but perhaps thinking that Jasper assumed I felt guilt over her death. I supposed a part of me did. Had I told her to stay in Seattle and made arrangements for her to stay, she would have never been on the train that had the accident. I closed my eyes at this realization. Another emotion to deal with.

Eight O'clock couldn't come fast enough. I was almost afraid of wearing out the hinges on my pocket watch for all the times I checked it. I eventually retired to my room, pacing and leaving the watch face open on the desk.

At a quarter to eight, Jasper knocked on my door. He had agreed to escort me to Isabella's home. Alice was waiting with her, but I was assured that we would be offered privacy.

In the depths of my dreams I had imagine meeting Isabella in a hundred different scenarios, but never like this. I dreamed of turning my car around and running back to her in her garden and taking everything I said back and begging her to stay. I imagined her in a blue gown meeting me in a field on a sunny day, running into my arms. I imagined her in white as I waited for her at the altar. I imagined her knocking on the door of my penthouse and leaping into my arms when I opened the door.

I never imagined this, though. As I approached the farmhouse I was taken aback by how small it was. I knew that Isabella had children, but surely she couldn't possibly have more than one in this tiny space. The house itself couldn't be larger than my kitchen in New York. There was an attic with a small window, and a fairly decent sized chimney ran to the center of the roof and billowed out a thin stream of white smoke. Behind the house loomed a barn. The air hung heavy with the scent of hay and dung of animals. Beside the house was a freshly tilled garden plot with bare, dark soil. Twilight was setting in, so while the remnants of dusk left a bit of a rosy glow, most of the landscape was bathed in a cool blue. The first stars were visible around the moon that still hung low in the sky.

Jasper and I approached a bare wooden door and knocked. I realized I was shaking and it was not from the cold. This was the biggest moment of my life in more than a decade, and I felt utterly helpless and out of control.

Alice opened the door, much to my unexpected relief. She looked at me sympathetically and motioned for me to enter. As I passed she placed a hand on my forearm and whispered, "She's as nervous as you are," Before heading outside where Jasper escorted her back home.

I entered the small space and tried to calm my racing heart. I took in all the details of the room before I allowed my eyes to settle on the small figure standing at the opposite wall. A large fireplace dominated the space, and various iron pots and pans hung on hooks beside the hearth. There was a small wooden table that could seat six in the front, a small china cabinet with peeling paint in the corner, and an ancient wooden icebox that was at least forty years old. Thin yellow curtains billowed in the draft from the pane-glass windows, and next to a chair in the corner stood Isabella wringing her hands, looking down.

I immediately felt bad about making her nervous, but I didn't know what to do to put her mind at ease. She looked smaller than I remember, but her face was still as beautiful. My memory had not done it justice. Her hair was pinned back behind her ears. It wasn't a modern style, but it was flattering. She was wearing a blue flower print dress that ended just below the knee with a light gray shawl over her shoulders.

When she looked at me my breath hitched. Though they looked older, her eyes captivated me in the same way that they always had. Deep pools of the darkest brown: wide, questioning, apprehensive.

Though I tried to move closer to her, I was only able to walk a few feet before my legs weakened. I grasped the back of a chair for support, and continued to look at her. Now that I had found her, there was nothing that could stop me from drinking in her form.

"Isabella," I whispered it reverently, like a prayer. "It's really you. It's really, really you." I wasn't sure she'd heard me, until she nodded her head in a quick, nervous manner, and then stared at her hands.

"Edward," she replied, as her gaze returned to me. A few tears slipped from her shining eyes, and I longed to cup her face in my hands and brush them with my thumbs. She produced a handkerchief from her sleeve and surprisingly, walked over and handed it to me. Reaching up, I felt the wetness from my own tears, which I quickly dabbed away.

"Please," she began, "Let's sit. I cooked supper."

I sat down at the sturdy, yet worn table and took in the place settings. The table was set for two. The plates matched, as did the soup bowls though they were from a different set. It looked like each piece of cutlery was from a different pattern, and I noticed immediately that the place that Isabella took had tin cutlery. I had a steel soup spoon and fork, with a silver knife. A mismatched tea service sat off to the side on a silver tray.

Despite being unmatched and old, I did notice that the dishes looked clean and well cared for. Isabella caught me eyeing the place settings, and I saw a deep groove form between her brows while her face reddened. She looked ashamed.

"You, you have a lovely home." It was only a half-lie. On one hand, it was obvious that the house was clean and that a lot of effort was put into its maintenance. On the other hand, I would never had deigned to let my wife live here. Quite simply, my Isabella was too good for such a place.

"Thank you," Isabella responded quietly before clearing her throat and continuing, "Please, help yourself." She removed the lids and steam rose from a bowl of vegetable soup that could have fed three times as many people, along with mashed potatoes, carrots and roasted chicken. Though the fare was simple, it smelled heavenly.

I couldn't help but groan in delight when I took my first bite. The chicken was flavorful and moist, and the soup had a hearty flavor that I hadn't tasted the likes of in a long time. "This food is incredible," I gushed Isabella blushed again, and this time I could tell it was from receiving the compliment. She dipped her head in reception of the remark, but otherwise remained silent.

For a few minutes, nothing could be heard but the sounds of dinner amongst a thick cloud of tension between us. "I think we should talk," Isabella finally stated. She didn't look unhappy. She wasn't smiling, but her eyes were shining with a light I remembered too well. Behind the light, I saw fear and nervousness, which I'm sure was mirrored in my own gaze. I nodded dumbly, not trusting my own voice.

Isabella served us both tea, and I was delighted when I saw that she still knew how I took mine. She then looked up at me and sighed, "Thank you for coming to meet me," she said quietly. I wanted to assure her that my heart gave me no other choice, but I felt it was too early, so I simply nodded.

"Of course, Isabella, you know you were always important to me," I looked up when she huffed through her nose, and saw her look away. A darkness clouded her eyes. I realized that perhaps she didn't feel the same way, "I'm sorry…I mean, I'm not sorry that I feel that way, but I'm sorry that it bothers you that I loved you." A searing pain tore through my heart. She never felt what I had, it seemed.

Here eyes became stern, and when she looked directly at me there was a fire behind them, which she quickly disguised. "I guess we all have things we regret," she replied softly.

I was confused, and more than a little hurt by this sentiment, "Are you saying…I mean, I'm sorry if you didn't care for me, but I don't regret loving you. Not one day." As I looked her, the stern expression gave way to one of understanding, and then gentleness.

"Edward, I can understand how my…disappearance weighed heavily on your mind. Part of the reason I invited you here was to let you know that you don't have to feel guilty about me. Jay told me about what you told him during the war," I exhaled sharply, and Isabella continued, "What happened wasn't your fault. You simply moved on. No one can fault you for that."

"What exactly did Jasper tell you?" What was she talking about? She was acting as though _I _left _her. _Granted, I encouraged her to go, but I never moved on. Even when I wanted to, I couldn't.

"How you spoke of a girl you dated, that she died in a train accident, that you wish you hadn't sent her away. But you didn't! I could have, I should have fought to stay. I was naïve Edward; I didn't realize what would happen. I had too many ideals, I realize this now."

I was thoroughly confused, "I always felt bad that I didn't make arrangements for you to stay. You were my fiancée. I wanted forever with you and yet I was sending you across the country. Why would I not feel bad about that? But that's not what I meant when I said I loved you. Those feelings were not born of guilt."

"I don't understand, Edward. I don't understand how you can say you loved me, when it was clear that it was so easy for you to move on."

_What?_

"What do you mean by that? You think I moved on?"

"Well, it was obvious, Edward. People who are in love don't just drop the other way you did with me." Her eyes welled up and became distant in memory, "I waited," her voice cracked, "and it was obvious that you didn't feel the same, that you couldn't be bothered,"

"Couldn't be bothered? _Couldn't be bothered?"_ My voice became louder, so I softened it immediately. This was not how I imagined this conversation going. "I thought of you every day. Every. Day. Every moment was torture. Isabella, you wouldn't even let me write you!" I had thrown my hands up in exasperation and then noticed the confused look on her face.

"Say that again?" Isabella asked.

"Which part? Which part don't you understand Isabella? That I died the day you left? That I spent every waking moment wishing for you to come back, just like I told you I would? Or that I respected your wishes and didn't try to write you? Or that I died _again _the day I found out about the accident. The accident that apparently didn't even kill you!" The anger was back, the anger that she had made all these assumption about me, and that those assumptions have kept her away from me. I was still steaming that she would be accusing me of these things. That she could sit there with a straight face and tell me that I was never in love with her.

Isabella opened her mouth to respond, but the anger that had rooted itself in there previous had been fed by these accusations. I got up from the table and paced the small room and continued, "Or maybe what it is you don't understand is how it feels to know that while I was dying inside, you were off with another man, _making a family! _Well, it's nice to know that one of us was happy!"

My rage was interrupted by a sharp slap on the table. I looked up from the floor and unwound my fingers that were tangled in my hair in frustration. Tiny Isabella had her hand flat on the table, and her whole small body shook as she glared at me. Her face was red in anger, her eyes were tight and her jaw clenched.

Isabella spoke low and steadily, "You will not speak of things you know nothing about, Edward. Especially in my home." She was so calm, yet so scary. Anger swirled about her and I fought the urge to take a step back. Hearing my name on her lips did strange things to my body. It unsettled me how I could find the sight both frightening and erotic at the same time. I chastised myself as I fought the urge to pick the small woman up and have my way with her. This was not the Isabella I had known – but damned if I didn't like it.

I slowly sat down, and as I slumped back, the emotional exhaustion of the day washed over me, "I'm sorry," I mumbled gruffly, and then cleared my throat. I looked at her in the eye and spoke clearly, "Please accept my apology, I…it's been an emotional day, and I have all sorts of feelings," I rubbed at the aching spot in my chest, "I didn't mean to offend you. I guess I just want to know, while you were away, why you wouldn't accept my letters. Why you didn't come to me if you were in trouble. Why you wouldn't communicate with me. I know I let you down, I just…I just thought you would have had more faith in me. In _us._"

She looked up at me with confusion and sadness, and as her anger dissipated she seemed so small and hunched once more.

Her voice was small, barely above a whisper, yet her eyes didn't waver from mine, "I never asked that of you." I looked at her with equal amounts of misunderstanding, "I never asked that you not write me."

I opened my mouth to tell her about the message my mother sent me, but the clatter of her teacup on the saucer silenced me. Isabella's hands were shaking with a strong emotion of some sort. When she spoke, there was a newfound fire in her eyes and steel in her voice. "I wrote you every day, at first." Her small fist pounded the table and I looked up at her in shock, "I couldn't handle the silence," she continued, "so I started to write twice a week. Then once a month, along with the phone calls –"

"Phone calls?" I whispered, flabbergasted.

"Once a week, for about 6 weeks," Isabella confirmed, "until Mrs. Mallory answered of course, and I was informed of your impending marriage." Her eyes clouded in sadness and her voice became bitter.

"What are you talking about? My wedding to you? Why would? I…I'm sorry I don't know what you are referring to." I laughed humorlessly. This was making no sense at all.

She reached across the table and grasped my hand, and despite the panic in her voice, I reveled in her touch, "Edward, please. Don't do this to me. I did receive _that _letter from you. I know all about your engagement. I mean, after I received it I didn't have much time to process it, and I know you've had girlfriends after, at least the papers say so, so I don't know why your engagement fell through. But I do know you were engaged to her while I was gone." She let go of my hand and I stared at her in shock and silence, so she continued to ramble, "Truthfully, I was devastated at the time, and angry, and scared, and sad. But there was nothing I could do, was there?" She sighed, "I forgave you in my heart long ago, even if I never understood how you could do it to me, or how it came about. For a while I thought maybe she was pregnant," her voice rose as she fought tears, "but I guess you would still be with her then, wouldn't you?" Her voice cracked as it rose in pitch, and tears slipped down her face and she batted them away.

I still stared at her in shock. I didn't trust my own voice.

Finally, I gathered my thoughts and opened and closed my mouth a few times before I found me voice. I looked at her and in prayed that my sincerity was apparent as I responded, "Isabella, there was only you. You were the only person to whom I've been engaged. You are the only person I had been with in that time…biblically, I mean," I cleared my throat, suddenly embarrassed of the subject. Frankly speaking with her about that brought back too many pleasant memories of that night, and I struggled to calm my body. "I was never engaged to anyone else, not even close." She looked at me quizzically so I continued to try and deny her statements, "I didn't court anyone. There was no one but you. In my heart, in my mind, for my body.

"So I have to ask you, to whom do you think I was engaged to marry? Because I can't for the life of me figure out how you got that impression."

Isabella regarded me silently and pensively for a few moments. After a long stretch without speaking, in which she tilted her head to the left, and then to the right, as though she were working out a puzzle, she sighed, and replied, "Well, you're either outright lying to me, or you never meant to send me that letter."

"WHAT LETTER?" I exclaimed a little too loudly.

Instead of responding, Isabella silently rose from the table and entered the small room to the right of the fireplace. She returned with a small wooden box and lifted the lid carefully, as though an animal resided inside. She pulled from it two sheets of yellowed paper, and some cream colored cardstock that bore my family crest on the back, along with an unfamiliar crest beside it. Wordlessly, she slid the items across the table.

Although I knew I shouldn't have, I surreptitiously took the exchange as an opportunity to graze my fingertips along her own. I shouldn't have wanted to touch her again, but like the desire to place my hands on her face, all rational thoughts escaped me and the desires of my body – and admittedly, my heart – took over.

I heard a soft gasp as my hand slid over hers, and I smiled inwardly. The lightness didn't stay for long however, as a heavy confusion and a large dose of anger settled into the bottom of my stomach.

On the top of the pile of papers was the single sheet of cardstock, decorated with a floral design embossed into the top and left side of the paper. The design flowed outward where, with gold leaf letters glaring at me, was printed my name in reference to a future I had never planned, nor had ever in my life entertained:

_MR. AND MRS. ALISTAIR MALLORY ARE PLEASE TO INVITE YOU WITNESS _

_THE MARRIAGE OF THEIR DAUGHTER_

_LAUREN EILEEN_

_TO EDWARD ANTHONY MASEN_

_SATURDAY AUGUST 24TH, 1935, 10AM_

_AT THE FIRST METHODIST PROTESTANT CHURCH OF SEATTLE_

_DINNER AND RECEPTION TO FOLLOW AT THE CAMLIN HOTEL, SEATTLE_

I was rendered utterly and completely speechless. My brow began to ache and I realized my jaw was slack. I schooled my features and looked up to see Isabella with a blank expression on her face. The only sign that I had that she was not as calm as she tried to make herself look was by the slight tremble of her chin. After all these years, I still knew her face. She wanted to be unaffected when showing this to me, but she was struggling to hold back her emotions. Her eyes also remained downcast, and I willed her to look up so she would show me what she was really feeling.

"Who sent this to you?" I had to know the person who spread these lies.

Isabella's eyes rose to mine, and the flames of anger sparked beneath them. "Does it matter? What matters most is that I received it, don't you think?"

My jaw clenched and unclenched. She had to know this was false, and I told her so. Again, the Isabella I knew was gone and was replaced by a woman who was deathly calm in her rage, "That doesn't explain the letter," she replied curtly, as she folded her arms across her chest.

After the shock of the wedding invitation, I had forgotten about the thin yellow sheets beneath the cardstock. I slid the card off the pile, and if I had thought that I was thoroughly shocked before, I was sadly mistaken.

It was my hand writing, but they were not my words. I could even tell that it was the blue ink that I had preferred, written on my paper with our family crest, on the top of a letter that I didn't write.

I registered the large breath that escaped my body, but I felt like it came from outside of me. As I read through the letter, my mind disconnected from my body, and I felt myself floating away. It was all too overwhelming, and my brain felt foggy. I faintly heard the clatter of the tea service as Isabella refilled our cups and waited for my response.

I read the letter once, twice. I didn't remember writing it. No, not in a thousand lifetimes would I have ever written this to my Isabella, yet the ink on the paper told a different story. I read the letter a third time, as though a hidden message could tell me from where and why this letter had been made. Was I drunk when I wrote this? No, impossible. Even at my most inebriated, I wouldn't have even remotely entertained the words on those pages. Short of being drugged…but to have been this drugged, I didn't think my penmanship…

Through the mist of confusion, I vaguely heard Isabella clear her throat. I looked up at her with questioning eyes and a baffled mind. When she caught my gaze her look of annoyance quickly turned to concern.

"Edward," She said, but her voice was a like a dream. "Edward!" She took my hand and my mind started to clear, "Are you alright?" She questioned me, "You…this isn't the reaction I expected," She drew back her hand and fiddled with her handkerchief, "You look…you look like you've seen a ghost…that just gave you a difficult math problem!" Isabella chuckled in her attempt to lighten the mood, but try as might I couldn't escape from my confused state.

"Edward, say something, please," She implored, "You've been staring at those pages for 15 minutes now, and haven't uttered a word." I began to recognize the nervousness and fear in her voice, so I willed myself to speak.

"Isabella…I…I mean, I never…I didn't." I huffed in irritation with myself and finally blurted out what I struggled to say. "I didn't write this. It looks as though I did, but I swear to you I have never seen or written these words before. I have spent the last 15 minutes trying to conjure up scenarios in which I _might_ have written something, but never in a million years would I have written this to you. Short of being unconscious, I for the life of me fathom how it came to be. Of course if I were unconscious, could I write this neatly? Perhaps I had a bizarre dream and sleep-wrote? No, impossible. Neither lucid nor under the spell of sleep would I have ever thought what I see here. No. Never. I did not write this."

"But," Isabella proceeded, "With the invitation…"

"No." I cut her off. "I don't know what has happened here, but there has been a grave injustice committed. Not under any circumstances would I have broken our engagement to marry Lauren Mallory, or _anyone_ for that matter. She has never held interest to me. I didn't even date her, and frankly I felt nothing but disdain for the way she treated you. I did not write this. It simply did not happen." I punctuated the last five words with my fist as it lightly pounded the table.

Isabella regarded me once more, and then with a strange expression across her face answered, "I think I believe you."

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><p>AN reviews are always appreciated, and also help to remind me that I'm not just one of two people reading this story :)


	12. Chapter 12

Hi everyone. I am truly, truly sorry that this story hasn't been updated in so long. I am going to school full time, working part time and raising two kids. The characters keep talking to me, but it's hard to find time to write their words down. I am hoping that I will be able to publish 1-2 chapters a month...that's my goal. So bear with me. I think the story's worth it.

**As a summary:** Edward was invited to the home of Dr. Carlisle Cullen, and while there he stumbles upon an overgrown path. He is seen as an intruder by the land owner, and in the darkness and his inebriated state he is convinced that he saw Isabella. Upon waking, he realizes he was probably fooling himself, but nonetheless wants to apologize to the woman for wandering onto her property, if anything to find closure that it was indeed someone else. Edward finds out that the landowner was Isabella, and he was invited for dinner and hopes to get answers as to why, if she didn't die 12 years prior, she kept her death a secret. Edward discovers that a letter, that looks remarkably like his handwriting, was sent to her claiming that he wanted to end ties with her and marry Lauren Mallory. This was accompanied by a fake wedding invitation. At the end of the last chapter, Edward was trying to convince Bella that he never wrote the letter.

As always, Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight

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><p>BPOV<p>

I found it so easy, and yet so difficult to look at him.

In many ways, he hadn't changed from the kind-hearted boy that had stolen my heart. His hair was still a chaos of auburn and brown, which he had obviously attempted to tame. It was a bit shorter now than it had been years ago, but still appeared rebellious to his attempts at civilizing it. His eyes were still a piercing mossy green, and too many times I had almost lost myself in them like I used to. It would have been so easy – and so dangerous – to do that again. As a young girl in my strange and overwhelming family situation, Edward had become a solace with whom I had been able to find reprieve from the world. When I was with him, nothing existed but him and me. That bubble, however, had proved to be fragile, and it had burst with devastating results. As much as I wanted to lose myself in his presence, I knew it was unwise. Even so, it took all of my self control to stop myself from running to him to inspect the wound on his head. I couldn't let myself do that, no matter how much I wanted to trace the patch of gauze on his temple, and brush the few strands of hair from that spot, just to touch it once more.

No. I couldn't let myself lose control like that. He was no longer mine to comfort.

Twelve years looked good on him, and I couldn't help but feel a spike of jealousy for the woman in his life. I still remembered how his arms felt around me, and now they only seemed broader, more muscular, and safer. His face appeared mature and more angular, and I noticed that his eyes looked older, and a little worn. Of course he did have a stressful job as Chief surgeon, I'm sure he worked many a long day and night for his position. I could tell that his jaw was set tight, and didn't seem to relax easily. He had a few fine lines around his mouth that accentuated the small frown that occupied his otherwise neutral expression.

Of course, I was in no position to analyze his neutral expression. Finding out your former fiancée wasn't dead after all had to have been a shock. Despite the letter he had sent, I knew he had to have cared for me at some point, and I knew he was a genuinely decent fellow. Only but a callous man would not feel _something_ when an old flame died.

Wouldn't they?

He claims he knew nothing about the invitation, but I knew how these things worked. Mrs. Mallory may have jumped the gun, but I'm sure marriage had at least been mentioned. Perhaps Lauren and Edward had been discussing the possibility, and when he wrote the letter, someone had taken the opportunity to slip the invitation in.

Maybe he never meant to send the letter, but it was without a doubt that the letter was written by Edward.

The handwriting was a little shakier than I had remembered, but I can't imagine it was an easy thing to write. I always imagined his anxiety coming through as he wrote the letters. Perhaps he had been worried that I would come and find him. And, he wasn't a complete cad. It's never easy to break someone's heart, and but for his parting words to me – twice, in my presence and on paper - Edward had always been a gentleman.

As I saw him pore over the invitation before reading the letter, I allowed my mind to drift to the first time I had read it. Truthfully, I had read it so many times I could have recited it verbatim. The first time I had read it, along with many nights throughout the years in my darkest hours, I would read the same lines over and over, imagining what Edward was thinking when he wrote them:

_July 5th, 1935_

_I sat in the dim, damp room and gazed out the small window which provided my only source of light. A bare bulb hung from the center of the room, but the harsh light had only aggravated my eyes that were still puffy and bloodshot from crying. I had cried for hours after being place in solitary, until Sister Anthony came in and say with me, reminding me that my emotions were not good for the pregnancy._

For the babies, _I thought. Though the good sister would never have said it like that._

_I wonder if she knew the truth. No one had said it out loud, and I certainly wouldn't. I wouldn't repeat what I wasn't supposed to know._

_My hands fluttered up to what was left of my hair. My long, brown locks had been shorn off into a rough, haphazard haircut that was just a breadth longer than an army crewcut, with uneven ends. Jane had almost looked euphoric when Aro asked that my hair be cut off, so that no one would hire me again, and everyone would see me as the risk that I was, rather than taking me in as a charity case. Jane said that I looked, "positively psychotic", and that no one would dare come within an arm's reach of me. My fingers traced down to my neck and winced as they came into contact with the cuts and scrapes that had been made on my neck._

_The door suddenly rattled and I heard a jingle of keys. That could only be Jane. After she had butchered my hair as she did, my first instinct was to cower in the corner of the bed like a frightened animal, but I resisted. Instead, I sat up straight and looked her in the eye as she swung open the door._

_The look in her eyes was like no other. Jane had never before looked happy. Beyond whatever emotion was bubbling up, she always looked vengeful and malicious. Had I been in a better state, I may have tried to figure out why she looked the way she did, but in the moment, I could only cope with holding her gaze._

_Tonight, her eyes held a strange brew of anger and victory. Her mouth was set in its typical grim line, albeit a bit more smug than usual. From behind her back she produced a white envelope, which she threw beside me on the bed. Like the letters that I had seen other girls receive, it had already been opened, and presumably read._

_Looking at me in disdain, she sneered, "you know, you're much better off having been captured, Isabella. Really, if you had managed to escape, where do you think you would have gone?"_

Edward. _My heart told me. But even I didn't completely believe that. What with his parting words to me in the garden, his lack of communication, and Mrs. Mallory's unsettling news, what made me think he would have wanted me?_

_But I knew that beyond anything else, he wouldn't have wanted me to be treated like this. Would he be able to look at me though? He wanted me sent away; he told me so. He _didn't_ want me the way I was, how could he have possibly wanted me now? My hand reached up to my shorn locks once more, and I heard Jane cackle as she backed out of the doorway and locked the door once more._

_Eyeing the envelope on the bed, I turned it over and gasped. _

_The return address was for an "E. A. Masen", at Edward's home address. The script was feminine, but that didn't mean anything. The day staff regularly sent along mail for the members of the household, and it wasn't unusual for them to address an envelope._

_I ran my hands along the edge of the envelope, noting the smooth texture of the paper. I realized I was buying time, but for what? I was only postponing the inevitable. I sucked in as deep a breath as I could, and I pulled out the paper that lay within._

_On top, I found two sheets of stationary folded twice. Underneath was an invitation. Flipping the heavy paper over in my hand, my heart ceased to beat as it plummeted into my stomach. There it was, right before me. Proof that Mrs. Mallory wasn't just scaring away a troublesome girlfriend so her own daughter could have an upper hand. No, it was true. Edward and Lauren were to be married._

_I rubbed the remaining two sheets between my thumb and forefinger. I wasn't sure I wanted to read them. What would they tell me? Unless the letter said "April fool's", I didn't think I wanted an explanation. Did I deserve one? I wasn't sure about that either. I was the daughter of a lumber worker, cast into a life I hadn't bargained for, and I came out in love with one of the most sought after boys from a world that had rejected me._

_I folded the letter up, and place it back in the envelope along with the invitation, where it promptly found a home in the pocket of my summer coat._

_It was a funny thing to be punished in this way. Although my mind was going crazy from boredom and lack of human contact, my body slowly began to feel a bit stronger. No longer was it required to complete the task of two maids and waitress. Although I hadn't been working in the laundries for a few months, my tasks had not decreased. Over the past few weeks I had found it more and more important to stop and take small breaks while no one was looking. Of course, Dr. Aro always told me to take it easy and not overwork myself, but he was hardly around when I was working. Instead, Jane would keep an eagle eye on me, and I was the only girl with whom she would reduce lunch portions if we were seen taking unscheduled breaks. Like I had mentioned before, I hadn't ever seen her happy, though I had seen her look victorious on many occasions._

_While I was in 'confinement' for trying to run away, Sister Anthony was in charge of bringing me my meals. After breakfast I would spend the morning tidying my small room, if not for anything else to do, and after lunch I would gaze out the small barred window, or read from the bible that had been placed in the room. After a few days, I asked if there were any chores I could help out with during confinement, and the Sister was kind enough to bring me a pile of clothing that needed mending._

_It still wasn't enough to being my thoughts from the letter that I hadn't read._

_The nights were the most painful. When my lights had been turned out, there was nothing for me to do but lie in bed and think about the past year of my life. At Christmas time, I thought that life couldn't get any better, and I supposed I was right. Life had only gotten worse and it obvious that I wasn't meant to have all that had been handed to me. As the tears fell onto my pillow, soaking it nightly, I ran the gamut of emotions, toward myself, toward Edward, toward the world._

_I missed him, but I didn't even know if that version of Edward existed anymore. Where did the boy I loved go? Nothing made sense. He was never under any obligation to court me, marry me, and be intimate with me. He could have had Lauren long before I ever moved to Seattle, but he had never wanted her, at least not until now. What made him change? What made his love for me fade so quickly and thoroughly that he would instead give it to the girl who had made my life most difficult. _

_I was angry at him. He knew how she had treated me. He could have had any girl he wanted, and yet he chose her. None of this made sense. _He _didn't make sense. I wanted answers, and I fought every night to not open the letter, because I didn't want my worst nightmare to be confirmed._

_After five days, I couldn't take it. I opened the letter. Two thin sheets of stationary that I knew too well fell into my hands. _

When Edward claimed he knew nothing of the marriage, I could only fume in anger, before calming down to a quiet rage, trying to determine his motive in lying to me. Why, how could he deny it?

But after I handed him the letter and invitation, I couldn't help but believe him. Not only did he deny writing it, but the confusion and utter shock was written in every movement he made, and in each facial expression that was more bewildered than the last.

I gave him space to read the letter. I watched his skin turn pale, and at first I thought that he was caught in a lie. Perhaps he didn't mean to send it? But no, his face didn't match that emotion. I watched his forehead crease in confusion as his fingers traced over lines, and then repeated the motion, as though there were complete sentences he didn't comprehend. It wasn't a long or complicated letter. It simply restated what he told me in the garden, and then informed me that he had found a "suitable match" with Miss Mallory, and they were to marry that very month.

I watched as his breath hitched every so often, and when he would huff out small breaths of air. His hand combed through his hair more times than I could count, so I knew he was agitated. Still, I couldn't place his demeanour. Perhaps he felt guilty for the brusque explanation he had given in the letter?

Eventually I gave up waiting for him to respond. I cleared the table, poured us each a second cup of tea and then tidied the tea service, and still he had not moved. His eyes bounced from one sheet of paper to another which he held in both hands, and his lips moved silently as he read a long – paused – and then read another portion of the letter. It was so strange. Perhaps he had forgotten what he had written.

Finally I couldn't take it anymore and I started to call to him. After my voice started to rise and I jostled the table a little, he looked up, still speechless and hardly able to get a word out, until he forced himself to blurt out in a rambling sort of way, that he had no recollection of writing the letter whatsoever. As he carried on, I saw the tension coming back into his voice. His hands started to shake and his voice held a tremor, and he began to repeat sentences, and after he pounded the table, I knew in my heart without a doubt. Edward Masen did not remember writing that letter.

My mind was moving too fast at the moment to fully consider how he could forget such a thing, but I chose not to pursue that avenue with him on that evening. In the last 24 hours he'd already seen the end of my shotgun, suffered from a head trauma, found out that I, in fact, had not died all those years ago, and he was now presented with a letter of which he had no recollection. I could see how that might be too much for a human being in one day, so I decided to move on.

Sighing, I watched his eyes soften, and I allowed my shoulders to relax. I could do nothing at that point but speak from the heart, as much as I allowed myself to do so. There were many, many things I could never reveal to him, but I couldn't dwell on them. Instead I decided to tuck them into a hidden place inside of me, to think of later.

As much as I was determined to talk about my children, I knew that now was not the time. I could hear Alice's words ringing in my head, and I imagined her small and alone, thinking of a faceless Mr. Porter who was her father. I didn't want that for my twins, but I knew that now was not the time to tell Edward of my children's' paternity. Instead I realized that although he couldn't put my mind at ease about his engagement, I could try and explain a little about my circumstances that led me to Jacob.

Clearing my throat, I began, "I want you to know…that I had no intention of marrying anyone else, even after I received that letter." I saw Edward's hands curl into fists on the table, and I waited. Eventually he looked at me and when I saw that he was relaxed, I continued.

"As of yet, I haven't really explained the circumstances that brought me here, and really I don't think that it's best I explain them right now." Remembering that he would be returning to New York I offered, "Perhaps I can pen them in a letter, since you'll be leaving soon, but I can understand that you may be exhausted." Edward's lips frowned slightly, but he nodded, dipping his eyes to inspect his fingers.

I looked down and inspected my own as I continued, though I quickly hid them under the table. Not in many, many years have I noticed how rough my hands were, or how jagged my cuticles looked. But I carried on with my story. "As I was saying, I was in a bit of a desperate situation, and I had been given a lift up to these parts. I had been dropped of in Bennington, and at the time I was in need of some help. Someone in town had given me the address of Dr. Cullen, said he was of a charitable nature, so I hoped he could offer me a bed for a night or two until I was able to move on."

That was a rough version of the truth. In reality, someone had seen my protruding belly and pointed me to the only mother's home in the area.

"So I started walking here-"

"Walking?" Edward asked

"Well, yes I hadn't the funds and my ride was staying so I had to find a place to sleep somehow."

"Why didn't you have the funds, I would have thought you would have some, what with Judge Dwyer – why it's nearly 10 miles from Bennington to here!"

I put up a hand, "Those funds were, not available at the time. In any case, I made the walk. Let me finish" I admonished lightly, with a smirk. I couldn't divulge to Edward why I had no money, and I was grateful when my gently teasing resulted in a lopsided smirk from him. How I missed that smile…

"Anyway," I continued, "I was on my way here when it began to rain quite badly. The sky darkened much quicker than I had anticipated. I walked and walked and I was starting to chill and to put it bluntly, I was just plain terrified. I was out in the woods on my own, no idea where I was going, and I didn't even know that I had accidentally passed that darned hidden laneway that nearly crowded out with trees!" Edward chuckled, and I realized that my hands had begun flailing. My face reddened but he confirmed that he felt the same way about the laneway.

"I felt literally and proverbially lost, Edward," I said quietly. "I was even considering just crawling up in a ditch or under a tree and sleeping there the night. But just as I thought I couldn't walk any longer, I saw a lantern from aways so I thought I'd follow it.

"It turned out that I had walked a bit too far, and I'd ended up at this very farm. The lantern belonged to the son of the farmer, who had gone to the barn and checked on the horses. There were a few who got spooked in storms, so he was out making sure that everything was secure and all that. By the time he was headed back from the barn, I had made close enough to call for him.

"He didn't hesitate to invite me in. I met his father, Billy, who also saw me that first day and from the moment I met these folks, Edward, I was welcomed. I needed a place to stay, so they let me stay for room and board." I took a deep breath to prepare the next statement. Edward had not spoken of my marriage in a kindly manner, and I was little nervous to move on.

"The son, whom I met out in the barnyard Edward, that was to be my future husband, Jacob."

With that, Edward jumped from the table and began to pace. I saw that his knuckles had turned white and his jaw was clenched. And his eyes were cold and hard, "So that's what it was like, was it?" He turned to me, accusing, "You had to run away so you just jumped into the arms of the first man who was kind to you, never mind me?"

"You were going to be married, what could I have expected from you?"

"I was _not_going to be married. I told you I didn't write that!"

"How was I supposed to know that? What was I supposed to do, hitchhike my way across the country while being chased, to get help from the boy who dumped me for the girl who had made my life miserable for years? How would I have expected that to work out?" I was now standing as well, with my hands on my hip, and with each intake of breath I could feel my nostrils flare.

Edward sighed, but I could tell the fight hadn't left him, "I would have helped you. You think I'm callous because you _thought_ I was engaged, but here you are, you really got married, to some farmer you knew for less than a month. For what? Because you got in trouble at school? Because you were afraid of being expelled? Punished? What?" Edward pulled at his hair, "This makes no sense, why would you run away, were you trying to get back at me, did you think it would punish _me _to fake your death?"

My anger flared as I saw him standing in front of me. The audacity to think that I would run from some place into the unknown, marry a man I barely knew and take on the life of a farmer's wife to punish _him? _"That, Edward Masen is by far one of the most egotistical assumptions I have heard in a very long time." He paused at that, his mouth gaped and his eyes focused on my finger that was pointing at his. I briefly considered that no one in a long time had dared speak to Dr. Edward Masen in such a manner, and I decided that he was long overdue for a lecture. "Do you think I would do all that, including fake my own death and marry someone to punish you? Really? Is that the kind of person I was?"

"I don't know!" he exclaimed, "None of this is sensible, maybe you were that kind of person! What made you so angry to run off and do that?"

"I wasn't angry, I was desperate!"

"Please, of what? Expulsion? Were you embarrassed by this fake letter? What was it, because surely something must had made you jump in that man's bed-"

"Believe me, there was no jumping, nor was there anything needing a bed when that marriage happened," I scoffed, and then I stopped. I realized I had revealed more than I had wanted.

But it didn't matter. Edward's eyes were no longer trained on me anymore, nor was he listening to me. While I had been ranting, Edward had turned his back to me, and seen a photo that I had neglected to take down. It was a small photo; on a shelf that Jacob had built that housed wedding photo, a picture of Sarah when she was christened, and another one of Jacob and me holding the twins as newborns. It was taken on September 29th in 1935. The date was neatly penciled into the bottom.

Edward slowly turned around to me, and I knew that he knew. I knew he had seen the date and connected the dots. And I didn't know what to feel. It wasn't quite shame, as much as nerves. I felt out of control, as I didn't know what would happen from here.

So, I squared my shoulders and I did what the only thing I could. I told him the truth.

"I didn't run off because of you. Yes, your letter said you were engaged to be married, and it seemed clear to me that I was no longer a part of your life. But that wasn't it. I ran off because I was unwed, and pregnant, and my children were going to be taken from me. I ran off to save them and the only part of you that I had left. My two eldest children are yours, Edward."

And then I feared Edward would suffer another blow to the head in less than 1 day, as his knees crumpled and he passed out on my floor.


	13. Chapter 13

Thanks to everyone who has hung in there with me, and welcome to my new readers! Please leave a comment, it really helps me guage how you are all finding this story.

as always, Twilight and related characters are owned by Stephenie Meyer

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><p>EPOV<p>

Ghostly voices surrounded me, and I could hear bits and pieces of conversation that were mixed with images in my brain:

_Let's try and get him to the bed…_

A hazy image of white cardstock popped into my mind

_He's not too heavy…_

The scent of grass and lemon verbena floated through the air

_Let me have a look there…_

Yellowed paper that crinkled under my touch. My writing, but not my words

_Is he OK?_

And finally a strange sensation of a soft lumpiness under me, followed by a blanket being pulled up to my waist….

_He'll come around, you'll see_

I blinked rapidly, my eyes cloudy for a moment. I took in my new surroundings: a small room – no, an alcove as one wall was a curtain, with a double bed in which I lay on. A kerosene lantern sat on the table to my left. A worn quilt covered me and as I moved my arms, I heard a rustle in the lumpy mattress underneath me. I tried to turn my head but it ached, so instead I shifted my eyes to the left to see Carlisle sitting beside me.

"Dr. Cullen, I am so sorr-"

"Please, Edward," raised a hand to stop me, "No need for apologies. I'm happy to help. And right now you should lay still. No moving and no talking. I don't need an explanation. Bells has explained and I can only imagine…" he trailed off and looked beyond the curtain, where I imagined Isabella might be waiting.

Instead of answering. I simply tipped my head in confirmation. As I lay for a moment in silence, I looked out at the black of the night. Either I hadn't been out for long, or a whole day or more had passed. As if sensing my question, Carlisle answered, "It's only been a few moments, Edward, less than an hour. When you fainted, Bells panicked and ran to get me. She was worried about the bump on your head – she still is, in fact," He glanced once more to the curtain, "we brought you into this bed, and I'm sure she's happy to hear that you are awake and cognizant. Tell me, do you remember where you are?

It didn't take me but a moment to answer, "I'm in Isab— _Bell's_ cottage." I tried her nickname out on my tongue. I hated it, but I figured it might be easier than calling her Marie.

"Do you remember why you are here?"

"Yes," I answered, and I felt my fists clench under the sheet. A flood of emotions returned, and I remembered feeling anger, surprise, shock, and for a brief moment elation. _Isabella and had children._ This was quickly replaced by a furious jealousy as I remembered this Jacob – the man who married my woman and raised my children. The man who took my place in the life I wanted to have while I pined for her –

A strong hand rested on my shoulder. "Calm down son, it will do no good. Here, take this," Carlisle offered me an aspirin, "and when you are ready, Bells will tell you her story. I think once you hear it, you will understand a little bit better. I grunted in agreement. I wanted to hear no more about Isabella and her love affair with Mr. Black, but my head hurt and I couldn't listen to any more. My eyes closed of their own accord, and the last thing I remembered thinking was, _I'm a father. Somewhere, very close to me are my children, and I'll be damned if I leave before I meet them._

The sound of birds chirping wildly roused me from a deep sleep. The ache in my head had calmed to a dull throb, and when I opened my eyes, I was surprised that the sky was still an inky blue-black. I tested out the feeling of sitting up a bit, and after a small bout of dizziness I felt quite fine.

Until the rooster crowed.

I jumped, and curse as my head pounded from the sudden jolt and bounced back onto the thin pillow. With a crash, I landed back onto the lumpy mattress where I lay. I then heard the clatter of a tea cup, and heard a small, feminine voice clear her throat.

"Edward?" despite the ache in my head, her voice still made me smile. It was something I never thought I would hear again.

"Oh, uhh" I started, my voice thick and raspy with sleep, "My apologies Isa – _Bells,_ I didn't mean to disturb you"

"Not at all, I've been up. May I come in?" I nodded my head before I realized she couldn't see me, and then confirmed that she could enter.

Isabella hovered in what one might call a doorway. She parted a thin curtain that hung between the bed and the living area. The curtain was a patchwork of bits of cloth, sewn together in a pattern of yellows, blues and greens. Isabella glanced around the tiny room before her eyes landed on me. "How are you feeling? Would you like anything? I can get you some water." She bit her bottom lip, and I hated to admit that one simple action still sent a thrill through me. She was still so much like the girl I remembered, though different. She was…more. Though I couldn't place my finger on how it was so. Her hair was pulled back under a hat, and small tendrils had already loosened themselves from the up-do, and were curling around her cheeks and chin.

Realizing I was staring, I answered her, "Yes, water would be lovely. You don't mind?"

"not at all" she turned to leave. And then looked back, "Umm, I'm sorry I haven't better accommodations for you, the Cullen house was far away. The linens are fresh," she quickly assured me, "But, I know it's not what you are accustomed."

"Bells," I began, and she looked up. A small smile played on her mouth, and I wasn't sure if it was my use of her nickname, but I liked that I had put it there, "This is fine. I thank you for letting me use your guest room, I'm grateful." I gave her what I thought was a warm smile, but was confused as her mouth fell, and her skin turned a little paler in the warm glow of the lantern that she held in her hand. Soundlessly, she turned and left.

I was confused by her reaction. I thought I sounded grateful, did I not? Regardless, my head was cloudy and I was in no mood for analyzing a woman's psyche. Isabella returned quickly with a glass of water for me, and as I drank it quickly my head began to clear. I studied her outfit, surmising that I had never seen such a thing on a woman. She was outfitted in a pair of sagging overalls, and a flannel overshirt. She huffed and her cheeks reddened with embarrassment, at my scrutiny I imagine. I hadn't meant to make her feel self conscious.

Wringing her hands, she offered explanation, "Well, it's 4:30, and the cows don't like to wait so…" she trailed off, sticking her thumb backward behind her.

Wait, what?

"4:30 you say? AM?" Well, it was still dark out.

"Yes," she nodded slowly, a slow smirk appearing on her face. I could still tell by how she rubbed her hands together that she was anxious, and I sought to put her at ease.

"Hmm, interesting," I began, "Seems it's not just doctors that keep odd hours," and when I gave her a lopsided grin, her smile widened, and I felt like I had one a small battle. When I gave it thought I offered, "I'm in no shape to accompany you, but I'd like to see your operation here later, if you don't mind.

"I don't mind," she replied, "But I'm afraid it would bore you. There's really not much to it. Just your average farm. Far from…" She quieted and stopped, thinking, "Far from anything that might interest you, I suppose…"

"I'm interested in knowing _everything,_Bells," I gave her a knowing look, for I had decided, I wasn't leaving without finding out more. I wanted to know of my children, and I thought I deserved to see them.

Isabella sighed, "I know. I know I owe you some answers. I just hope you can appreciate my situation after I've told you. I need to ask for your discretion, though. And one other thing."

"Anything," I replied, without thinking about what 'anything' might entail.

Isabella looked over and absentmindedly drew her finger along the top of a dresser to her right, "I know my children should know who their father is,"

"They don't?" I asked. All this time, had she been lying to them to? Did they think that Jacob was their father?

"They know it's not Jacob," she explained, holding her palms up at me, "and I've told them about you, as much as I could, I mean. But they don't know you're here, and I can't let them know until I have some guarantees from you."

"Which are?"

"They've already lost a father," she explained quietly. As much as it enraged me that she could call this Jacob Black their father, I tried to understand her point of view. "I can't have someone waltz into their life, tell them that you are their father and then have you leave without a word. That would be worse, I think, than not knowing you to at all. Especially for Anthony," She added.

I gasped at the name, "Anthony?" My chest tightened when Isabella nodded, "You gave him my name.

"I did. He knows that's your middle name."

"But we - you, had twins, right?And what of the other child?"

"Her name is Charlotte. Charlotte Marie," I had never heard that in the family, and I had wondered how she came up with that name. Guessing my look, she said, "Her namesake, well, let's just say she's part of the story."

My mind was boggled by the fact that I had a child, and I don't think I had completely processed that I had two. "Where are the children now?" I pondered.

"At the Cullen house. Alice was very helpful last night, and she made up a big elaborate story about needing a sleepover night with them. Anthony wasn't thrilled, he thought it a bit too girlish and he doesn't like to be away from here as he considers himself the man of the house, but Carlisle told me that Jay – I mean Jasper helped him out. He does adore Jay so." Isabella's eyes smiled at the thought.

I didn't know these children, they were all but strangers to me. But knowing that they existed, it did something inside of me that I had never felt before. It was like a pulling, a longing. I wasn't sure how I longed for someone I had never met, but I suppose it was born out of a deep paternal instinct. _Mine, Mine, Mine. _I can't say I was jealous of Lt. Whitlock knowing my children, my son. But I was envious. I wanted to be for them what he was. I wanted to be more.

"You have my promise, Is- _Bells_" I corrected myself, "I'll not walk away from them. I want to know them. I know New York seems far, but I promise, I'll do what I can to make sure they know me."

Isabella simply dipped her head, and said, "Thank you." She left the curtain and came back with a small tray of food – bread, some hard cheese and an egg, along with a delicious smelling black coffee and a creamer. "Not sure if you are up for eating, but just in case, I'll leave it here." I nodded as my mouth began to water, and I silently watched Isabella walk out the door.

I didn't want her to leave. Watching her turn her back and go ripped at me, but I had already taken up so much of her time, I knew it would be incredibly selfish to call her back just to be near her for one more moment. So instead, I turned my attention toward the food on my plate.

I ate as I lay in bed and I tried to piece together everything that had happened in the last 48 hours. When I first arrived, I came up for a simply dinner party, that I had agreed to attend out of respect for my father and one of his oldest friends. And suddenly I find myself in the guest bed of the love of my life, whom I thought had died 12 years earlier. It was truly uncanny. This doesn't happen to people. There was so much of the story missing. And children! I didn't think that could be. Could it? Perhaps it wasn't…no, it wasn't that. Isabella may have done things that angered me, I didn't think she would tell me they were my children if they weren't. I refused to let my mind wander that perhaps she'd had a tryst at school, and since she didn't want contact…

No, no. We had already discussed the strange misunderstanding. She wrote to me, and waited for me to return her letters. Why did I never see them? Why was I told not to write to her? None of this made sense. But I was certain that if Isabella thought I was waiting for her, she wouldn't have been unfaithful to me. I would not accept that possibility.

I wanted to know my children. I wasn't sure how it would work out, but I knew I could find away. As I thought of this, my mind drifted to New York. Carlisle told me he would contact the hospital on my behalf, and I knew the doorman would take any message and keep the mail for me. But I needed to contact Tanya. She would be upset that I was delaying my return, but she would be furious if I didn't contact her. If anyone asked where I was or what I was doing and she didn't know, she would find it positively embarrassing. What with her nearly being my fiancée, which admittedly, I didn't want to think of in that moment,

I spent a bit of time thinking about that, and I couldn't recall when or by whom it was decided that Tanya and I were to wed. Of course no proposal had been made, and I hadn't even spoken with her parents, but we talked about it as though it were a given. Admittedly, I thought that she was the woman for me, in the sense that once I got married, I could carry on in a state of semi-existence. She knew I wasn't completely with her emotionally, but I had a good social standing and no desire to sully that image. I had never given her doubt of my commitment, and that was most important to her. She came from a very good family, and I knew she wouldn't want to do anything that might blacken their name.

From Tanya, my thoughts drifted to Isabella, and I was completely aware of how my heart rate quickened when I thought of her. Even in her overalls, her smile was more rewarding than any part of Tanya, physically or emotionally. I thought of Tanya and her mink stolls and off the shoulder dresses, and when I imagined Isabella in those, with her shoulders bared to me, the seam of the stockings travelling up the back of her legs under her dress that fitted over her backside….lips rouged….

I had to take a deep breath and adjust myself. As I did, my palm came in contact with my cock and I hissed, imagining Isabella again. In the outer room I saw a large old wash basin, and I wondered what it might be like to watch her bath. Standing nude in the middle of the tub, rubbing soap over her body, her long hair dripping down her back and leaving trails of water down to the dimples above her…

My hand was now rubbing furiously, and my back arched off the bed a little. I could imagine the smell of her skin – the new smell, and the scent of lemon verbena seemed more potent as I remembered the feeling of nuzzling her neck and breathing her in.

With one more pass, my balls tightened and my body jerked, the euphoria rising and leveling off in me. I used my handkerchief to clean myself, and then stuffed it in my pocket. I would hate to ask my cleaning lady to take care of it, so I'd had to make a point of washing it in my sink at home. Ah, well.

At the last moment, I laid down on the bed I just made and breathed in her pillow. It was as though I could smell her there. I rolled onto my side, facing the window, and I saw what I hadn't yet noticed. There, on the small bedside table was a photo of a very young, very pregnant Isabella. She stood stiffly beside an even younger looking man with tanned skin and a bright, wide smile. Isabella's right hand rested at her side, while her left arm was linked into the man's. She was wearing a while lacy gown and a veil, while he sported a black suit that perhaps looked just a bit small for his frame.

I wanted to purge my breakfast at the sight of the photo. I didn't suppose she had intentionally placed it there for me to see – see the life, the love, and the children that I had never known. I was sure it was an oversight and not meant to send me a message. I then began to look more closely at the bedside table. Other than the photo, there was a small clock, and a ceramic dish. Peering inside, I saw a small pair of earrings, a sewing needle, and a long familiar gold chain. I pulled the chain out, knowing what I would find on the end. Sure enough, it was still there. Dangling from the gold chain, a simple gold band with a single diamond in a setting that resembled a flower.

I had given her a ring that I could afford at the time. If it were now, I would be inclined to line each finger with jewels and purchase her a necklace for every day of the week. I was beginning to suspect she wouldn't appreciate those gestures, but such was my nature and upbringing. But the sight of the ring confirmed a few things for me.

One, Isabella hadn't forgotten me, nor had she completely given up on _us,_ even if it was something in the past. As much as she said she had no intention of finding me, she thought of me. I knew it.

The second thing I realized was why she gave me a strange look when I called this a guest room. This was not a room intended for guests, and I wanted to slap myself when I recalled the tiny nature of the cottage. No, Isabella had let me sleep in her bed, which means that not only did I inadvertently insult her home and her bedroom, but I had also fantasized about her in her own bed and pleasured myself between her own sheets. The realization was equally embarrassing and erotic, and I briefly wondered if I had time to do it again.

The sound of that blasted rooster outside the window roused me from falling again into fantasy, and I quickly straightened the bedsheets. I tidied up the dishes and placed them at the small wooden counter on the other side of the fireplace, noticing that she still had a pump at her sink to draw water from inside the house. I began to orientate myself to her meager surroundings. The area behind the large fireplace was divided into two; One side served as her bedroom, _not the guestroom_, and the other was a kitchen area with a sink, counter, and a worn and well oiled table that was deeper than all the rest. The front was dominated by the kitchen table where we had sat, the icebox and a cupboard. A row of hooks were fastened to the wall by the front door, and the shotgun with which was far too familiar, hung over the back door. Except for the shelf of photos I discovered last night, and a cross stitch that said, "God bless this home", the surroundings were plain and practical. I surmised that the children must sleep in the attic.

I had to admit that unnerved me that my children had spent their lives, unbeknownst to me, sleeping in a drafty attic. I had always reasoned that any child of mine would have the best of the best, and in my estimation this was not it. It wasn't Isabella's fault, I reasoned. She simply did what she could with what she had. No, the blame laid entirely with this Jacob Black, who had assumed the role of father with my children, and then set them to live in this rusted shack. Then he had the gall to go off to war and leave them! They deserved better, all of them did.

Well, now I was in the picture and I could certainly rectify that. Starting with the house. I wondered whether I could add on to this one, or just have it torn down? I preferred the idea of tearing the whole thing away and starting from scratch, but there were other things to think about, and that would be easy enough to do in time.

Before she left, Isabella had assured me that going to the Cullen's house would be safe. The children were all up and by 8am were already well on their way to school. I felt relieved that I could move freely, but still disappointed. I knew I shouldn't meet them without Isabella there, but I didn't want to skulk around like a secret.

Taking the small path I had just two nights ago, I came upon the Cullen house once more. The windows were open to let in the tepid spring breeze, and I momentarily stopped and noticed how the air seemed different. The buds on the trees still made the forest look bare, but there was something in it's scent – not green per say, but a promise of something, a bit of wild. I could imagine were it my home, I'd like the same scent to cascade through my hallways as well.

It briefly brought be back to Seattle. There, the air was usually heavy with the scent of the pines and other conifers on our property. This smell was different, but also similar. I had to admit it brought a small smile to my face as I made my way to the front door.

The day at the Cullen house proved interesting as well as long and tedious. Mrs. Cullen – Esme – as she preferred, was a fine hostess for my sorry bruised self, and allowed me to wash up in her home. When I saw the washtub and the pump in the cottage, I quickly realized that Isabella had no bathroom facilities. As much as I appreciated her letting me stay there, I felt like I needed a proper toilet and a shower.

I was able to reach Tanya on the phone. I informed her that I was staying in Vermont to assist my father's friend with his practice. She was angry, and while my nature to acquiesce to her demands that I return to the city immediately, all it took was one memory of Isabella's smile to remind me of my reason for staying, along with the fact that I would soon meet the children. She was very unhappy when I refused her demands and ended the call.

After, Esme suggested I take a leisurely stroll in the grounds _during the day_. While I had never spent much time in the country, I had to admit that it was peaceful. There was something refreshing about wandering along quiet roads listening to the sounds of the forest. Vermont is mountainous, but I found that walking on foot was invigorating. I realized that I rarely walked simply for the sake of walking. I was usually very busy moving from one place to another, that walking was a means of moving from point A to point B. Here, I saw that walking served another purpose, one that made me yearn to read Thoreau or a Robery Frost Anthology. I had all but been unacquainted with this part of our grand country.

And I waited. Isabella had finished her morning chores, and then did some work or other in the fields, and after lunch she let her farm hands take over, and said she'd come over to the Cullen house as soon as she'd cleaned up.

Glancing at my watch, it was nearly 1 O'Clock in the afternoon when she arrived. While waiting, my anxiety had increased exponentially every moment after I'd finished eating, but when she walked through the door, it felt like a huge weight was taken from my shoulders. I hadn't realized how much tension I had just in waiting to see _her _again.

She was dressed differently than in the morning, which didn't surprise me. Her overalls were replaced by a simple blue cotton dress with a collar, that buttoned down the front. The slight flare of the skirt accentuated her hips, which I noticed were a bit wider than when she was a teenager. The dress ended just below her knees an served to show off her shapely calves in a beautiful way. Though she was living in meager circumstances, she looked healthy and fit. Of course, my perusal was noticed, and I enjoyed seeing her cheeks flushed as she looked at everything in the room but me.

"I trust you've had a good day, Edward?" she asked as she took a seat across from me. I nodded in assent, when she added, "I imagine the country can be boring after being used to the hustle and bustle of the city,"

"I had a great day, actually. I found it rather, peaceful I suppose. A nice change." I gave her a lopsided grin, and saw her cheeks darken. Then a thoughtful look passed over her face and she drew her eyebrows together.

"Yes, well I suppose it is a nice little holiday for you. I'm sure you have lots to do in the city though, and soon enough this place will seem a bore," she laughed, trying to pass off her statement nonchalantly, but I saw a darkness in her eyes.

"You're worried about something," I stated bluntly. Her expression sobered, and she didn't need to nod for me to know I'd hit the nail on the head.

Looking down, I saw that her hands were shaking. She was clasping them together in an effort to calm the tremors. I longed to reach across and take her hand to calm her, but I feared that I was the source of the anxiety, and my action would only make her more nervous.

Clearing her throat, she straightened her shoulders, "My children are my world. And I don't know what you have planned, but I will tell you now that you will never, ever be able to take them from me."

My mouth hung open in surprise, "Is that what you thought, that I might take them away?"

"I know we don't live like you, and if you haven't any yet, I'm sure you'll have plans in your head to change our lives. I want to tell you now that you are not invited to do so."

I looked away, thinking of the cottage they lived in, and Isabella must have caught the look in my eye, "I mean it Edward. I am their mother, and they will not be taken from me. Not by you, or your lawyer, or anyone else for that matter. I've run before to protect them and I'll do it again. In fact," she continued while my mouth hung agape, "I'll do it better this time. I have more resources, I have more contact" I stopped her by raising my hand. She had a fierce spark in her eye that unsettled me. I had no doubt she could carry out her threat if she felt she needed to.

"Bells," I implored her, "Please, I would not think such a thing. Yes, I will admit that I was surprised by the size of your home," I quickly moved on as I saw tears shining in her eyes, "But I also saw someone that takes good care of what they have. I saw someone who loves their children deeply, and who works hard to make a good life. How could I take my children away from such a life?" It was mostly true. I would never take them from their mother. Although I hadn't abandoned my plan to tear down that shack they called a home.

Moving on, she demanded, "You must treat Sarah as nicely as the other two. She's too young to remember her father, but she would notice if she were treated differently." I nodded, completely accepting. I wasn't sure what it would be like to meet her, let alone children of my own blood, but I knew how to be compassionate, and fair. Plus, she was a part of Isabella, and I knew it would be difficult not to feel something for her, if for that very reason.

Sighing, she took a deep breath. Esme then walked into the room, bringing a tray with tea and a few biscuits. Isabella thanked her, and then went about slowly and methodically preparing a cup of tea. First, she slowly poured the tea to what seemed like an exact measure. Then, she added one lump of sugar, and stirred. Then a second, and stirred. Then finally she added milk and stirred for a final time. I bit back a smile at her ritual. Clearly she was stalling the rest of the conversation.

"I bet you think I'm stalling, don't you?" She said, and a chuckle burst from my lips. She also had a smile playing on her lips, "You're partly right, but this is also a little habit of mine. Raising twins and another little one taught me to savor small moments in my life, even things as simple as making tea.

I felt somber, and I suddenly had to tell her what I felt, "For what it's worth, I wish I had been there. To see them grow up, to raise them with you…" I trailed off at the end, worrying that I had said to much, that she would be upset at me bringing up the past.

But I was wrong, her face looked a little bit brighter, although she responded quite seriously, "For what it's worth, I wish you had been too." She allowed that to hang between us, leaving me to ponder its meaning. Did she still want me? It couldn't mean that, could it? If it did, and what would I do about New York, and Tanya? Could I leave it all behind? Could she come with me?

"No matter," she carried on with her voice raised, oblivious to my internal ramblings, "It is what it is. I don't regret my life and we can only move forward right? Well, before you meet your children, I have a lot to tell you about how I came to be here."


	14. Chapter 14

Hi everyone,

I had to split this chapter in two, so the rest should be up in a few days.

I just wanted to address a major theme in this story: mother's homes. First, I know that there are lots of **great **programs out there for women with unplanned pregnancies. In the past however, many agencies went unregulated. There was also a large black market for infants, as U.S. Laws forbid the adoption of infants from different religious backgrounds, so there were very few Jewish babies available for adoption. I"m not at all saying that this is what will happen in this fic, I'm just giving a little bit of historical background. Having said that, I will say that this story is **fiction** and I did take creative license because of that. There are a few stories that have inspired me however, one of them is a film from Ireland called, "The Magdalene Sisters", and another is "Butterbox Babies" a non-fiction book published in 1992. Neither of these stories took place in U.S. (Butterbox babies happened in Canada), but due to cultural similarities, I don't think that it's too much of a stretch to imagine that something could have happened somewhere in the U.S.

Thanks for reading, and for any and all comments you care to leave! As always, Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.

* * *

><p>BPOV,<p>

I was more nervous that day than I had been in ages. In fact, I can't remember in all my adult years being as anxious as I was.

I got out of bed at the usual time, though truthfully I had been awake for hours. I wasn't accustomed to Anthony's little cot, though I fit just fine. I didn't really think it was the bed that kept me up, though. I knew the true source of my anxiety was that in less than 24 hours I would have to recount a tale that I hadn't told anyone in nearly 12 years, I would have to inform my children that their father had found us and convince them that we were safe (even though I didn't completely believe that myself), and most of all I had to trust Edward. I had to trust that after he heard my tale that he wouldn't tell anyone of my location, or that he had seen me, and most of all, he wouldn't run to Elizabeth Masen and tell her all about his grandchildren. I hadn't seen Demetri or Felix for a long time, but I didn't doubt that woman had ways of keeping track of me. My only hope was that Edward would be an ally in this, and he may understand why I had to do what I did, and why, if I was pushed to do so, I would run again. I wasn't wealthy, but I had some savings tucked away. And after working with the girls at the mother's home for so many years, I had contacts from here to California, ones who would understand and keep me under wraps. If all else failed, Angela still had family in Brazil…

No, this wasn't the time to rehash this. I had long ago set a plan in place in case Elizabeth decided she wanted my children after all. Now was the time to sleep and face the day well-rested.

The morning was still chilly, the yard still coated in a carpet of white crackling frost. However the sun was waking up each day a little earlier, and now instead of waking up to pitch black, the sky was a deep blue gray. There was some cloud cover, but the sunset last night told me that it would dissipate before my morning chores were done. We were in for a warm, sunny spring day. It hadn't rained in almost a week, so I knew what that meant: today would be perfect for planting.

Seth and Sam were expected to be here at 8am, just as I would normally finish breakfast and the children would head off to school. Since Jacob had gone, two of his cousins helped out on the farm regularly from April to November, and then in the winter months they came by occasionally to help out with the livestock or maintenance. I had learned a lot on the way, so I could do a lot of the repairs myself now, but it was always nice to have an extra hand. When Jacob was alive we worked this farm together; It was never meant to be done by one person.

After waking, I drank some black coffee and ate a chunk of brown bread. I hadn't meant to wake Edward up, but my rooster managed to stay out last night, so he gave a most unwelcome wake up call outside the window. I didn't want to see Edward in the morning. I was afraid that seeing him laying my my bed, his hair tousled, his skin emanating a warmth from being under the covers, well I just didn't think I could handle it. He did wake though, and so of course I brought him something to eat. I wasn't ashamed of my home or my life, but I wondered how he saw it through his eyes. After Carlisle left and entered my room, I wasn't prepared for the way that my cheeks heated up when I saw in him laying in my bed. My imagination hadn't done it justice. The air inside the space was fragrant with his masculine smell, and I wasn't at all prepared for the sight of his muscles flexing as he stretched. His head was bandaged and he looked tired, but still beautiful to me. Seeing his bare arms, and his chest muscles flex from beneath his undershirt, I could help but remember what it was like for those arms to be wrapped around my waist, holding me possessively.

When I remembered that feeling, I couldn't reconcile those memories with as person who would want to send me away, only to choose another fiancée. He treated me like the center of his world. I _Could it be true? _ I wondered. Could it be that he had never meant to push me away? I considered this idea, the thought that he hadn't chosen another and all that time had wanted me. Then he thanked me for letting him use our 'guest' room, and the only thing I could do was turn and walk out. Where in this small house would we have so much extra space that we could allocate some of it to only be used by guests? The concept was ludicrous, and it brought me back reality.

The reality was, Edward was eighteen when we were together, and if he did really love me, it wasn't Marie Black that he had loved. He had loved a girl that no longer existed; Though I hadn't died, I was not her anymore.

I was proud of who I was, but I didn't have the same privileges and opportunities that were given to me back in Seattle. I had lived a life of hard steady work and simple rewards. As Jacob use to say, "In farming you don't make much of a living, but you can make one heck of a life". This life that I loved was so different from what Edward had ever known, I wasn't sure he would recognize it's value. I didn't have the attributes that he expected from a woman. I didn't even have a guest bed! What would he see in me now?

Despite the way my heart fluttered when I saw him, I couldn't think about how he made me feel physically, it was just too dangerous. He would meet his children, and I would always be their mother. But I was sure that as much as I wanted to re-live the past and feel him hold me again, it would never be. What would he do with a farmer's wife?

On top of that, I felt guilty. There was a man that was laying in my bed – the one I'd shared with Jacob for eight years, and it was shameful that this man could arouse such feelings in me. Even if that man was Edward. _Especially_ if that man was Edward, considering Jacob's feelings on that part of my life.

I quickly hurried out the back door and took a deep lungful of crisp spring air. I immersed myself in my gardens as soon as I was done in the barn. A farm was an excellent place in which to keep one's mind occupied, as there was always too much to do. I began in my gardens, as I found this work the most relaxing, and my favourite time was in the spring.

On the south side of the barn, opposite to the house, Jake had built an impressive glassed in lean-to, where I was able to start a whole multitude of vegetables. When I came to the Black's farm, though I had twins, I would often work with Jacob's sisters and I learned a lot about growing, canning and preserving fruits and vegetables. Eventually Rebecca and Rachel got married, and ended up moving west, but by the time they left the farm we had an impressive market garden, and we even supplied the local grocer's with vegetables, fruits and berries in the summe, and canned goods in the winter. Keeping it up was no small task, but it came with big rewards. In gratitude for the knowledge that was passed onto me by the Black sisters, I in turn taught the girls at the mother's home. The girls who helped me with growin and selling the produce were given a portion of the profits, and in turn I taught them also how to keep a ledger to run their own business. With the vegetable garden I was able to contribute to the farm financially, and we were able to save some money. I was still able to make a bit of money from the produce, and the rest of the farm profit, from the crops and the cows, I shared with Seth and Sam. We had a simple life, surely. But we had a healthy one, too. While there were certainly risks, I knew in the end we had each other.

Jacob had a head for numbers, so along with running the farm we were able to put away a little bit of money each year. Most of it went into savings for the children, a little into a rainy day fund. We were both survivors of the depression, and we knew that a little could go a long way; but we didn't want to have to live that life ever again. It was better we thought to live with what we needed, so we would have it when times were slim.

As I rounded the corner to the barn, I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face. The vegetables were certainly my pride and joy. I walked amongst the rows of spinach that were already budding up, pulling a brave weed here and there that dared grow larger than the rest. The weeds this time of year were tiny and I'd take a hoe to them soon. In our glass greenhouse, I admired the broccoli, onion and carrot sprouts that had started. On the other side, I went and looked at the peas. I allowed the peas to grow up a trellis on the side of the greenhouse – they benefited from the support, and in the summer they would provide a bit of insulation so that the vegetables inside wouldn't over heat. I looked at the garlic, lettuce and leeks, and then grabbed the hoe and began my work. Soon after, Seth and Sam arrived, hitched up the team and went out into the fields; they were planting wheat today.

It being mid-spring, it didn't take me long to take care of the weeds. I gave the plants a little water as it hadn't rained in a while, and then transplanted some of the young plants. After consulting my farmer's almanac I decided to plant some tomatoes in the greenhouse and some beans in the fields

That work took me nearly to noon, and was proud of myself that I was allowed to keep my head mostly clear. A few times thoughts of Edward popped into my head, and I pushed them out. I realized at some point though, that the thoughts I had of him were not negative ones. I wasn't thinking about his reaction to my story, or how he may not take to my children. No, when I thought of Edward, my mind immediately went to the scruff I noticed on his chin, or the shape of his form under the quilt this morning. I remembered how his reddish hair looked brown indoors, but reflected gold in the sun. I thought about how he looked in my bed, how it smelled, and thought that I wouldn't mind keeping those sheets on for a while. Just the thought of him having lain where I slept…

These were dangerous thoughts though, and I knew it. Whether or not Edward had married Lauren, or had planned to or what have you, he had made it very clear all those years ago that I was not suitable for his world. I won't ever forget his insistence that I was no good for him "like that". At the time I was shocked beyond belief, but it didn't take me long to realize what he meant.

The fact was, no matter which wealthy man had married my mother, I would always be the daughter of a poor lumber worker. This wasn't just about money. I knew that my accent and choice of words were different, the way I carried myself, the things I thought. After he told me he couldn't have me the way I was, I saw what he meant. In the end, he needed someone who could navigate the waters of his social circles, and while others had been trained on sailboats, I was rowing a dinghy. I did need to learn more about those ways, and I was willing. I was willing to come back and be the person he needed, and I was willing to wait.

When I got pregnant, everything changed. And then when I spoke with Mrs. Mallory and received the letters, I realized that while I was able to wait, Edward wasn't. Now, he says he never wrote those letters, and while I wanted to believe him, part of my believed that he felt so guilty, that it has blocked out what he did. Regardless, I took them as truth at the time, which steered my destiny to what it was now.

I was not the same Isabella he knew way back when, though when I looked back, I wish I was. Because in spite of all that has happened, I still see the Edward I loved so dearly. The catch was, if he didn't love me enough as a teenager, he wouldn't love me as the woman I had become. I was a lady, and a farmer's wife. I knew less about his way of than I ever had, and I knew there was no place for someone like me there. I wouldn't have measured up to what he needed or desired, not after living for almost a dozen years in the mountains.

So I tried to block those images out, when his smile crept into my memory, I pulled at the weeds harder. When I remembered how his eyes twinkled, I planted twice as fast.

And then it was lunch time, and I realized that the moment in which I'd have to tell my story was nearly upon me.

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><p>I smoothed by blue dress as I walked up the steps to the Cullen's. I tried to take deep breaths, but my throat felt dry and constricted.<p>

Instead of entering through the front, I slipped down the stair to the back door. I stopped at the pump, and with the cup hanging dangling from a string took a large gulp of cool water. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and entered through the kitchen.

Esme was there, and she greeted me with a warm smile. It was such a relief to know that my closest friends didn't hold it against me that I concealed my true identity, especially since I was linked to one of his old college friends. Fortunately for me, Esme and Carlisle had heard enough horrific stories from pregnant women ending up at their door step that they took my tale in stride. They understood that my main motive was keeping my children happy and by my side.

Esme's kitchen for me was something of a dream and an oasis for me. I had sat at her large table many times drinking coffee, sharing stories and concerns, and getting advice. Esme was more a mother to me than anyone had been. My own mother had loved me very much, but her carefree childlike ways had prevented her from seeing problems beyond her own perspective, and Jacob's mother had passed on when he was just 9 years old. So it wasn't surprising that I lingered in the kitchen a bit too long before going out to see Edward.

Eventually I felt the snap of a towel on my backside, "Get out there Bells, that boy's been waiting for you all day. Any longer and he'll have worn a path in my carpet. Go on!" I rubbed myself and looked backwards as I headed for the kitchen door, Esme chuckling and shaking her head as she seasoned a roast.

I pushed through the door of the kitchen, and Edward immediately turned to the sound. I thought I saw a look on his face as I came through the door, as though he relaxed a bit, and I immediately felt guilty for having kept him so long.

As I sat down in front of him, an image of my mother flashed before my eyes: Elizabeth sitting uninvited at my tiny kitchen table, looking around with disgust. Her eyes were the same color green as Edward's and she held her eyebrows the same way when she was appraising someone or something. It reminded me of when Edward was a boy, and just how attached he was to her. Edward would tell her everything, and always listened faithfully to her advice. He wore the clothes she purchased, he studied when she told him to study, she even encouraged him to apply to certain colleges – which she mistakenly thought were too difficult for me to gain acceptance. I remember that When I told him the reason she wanted him to attend certain schools all those years ago, we had an argument over it.

I suddenly realized that I needed more guarantees from him if I was to breathe a word of this story, or of my children. Thankfully, he didn't seem to bat an eyelash, and I was even impressed when without thinking he promised to treat Sarah the same as the others. I knew I had to lay my expectations all out on the table if I was going to do this. If not, I would run. There was no other choice.

looking at him at that moment was like looking at an older face of Anthony. I knew the lines of tension in his face, not just from him, but from his son. I knew he was trying to mask his nerves and the multitude of emotions that were firing through his body. I also knew from raising Anthony that he was probably just minimally aware that those emotions existed. Unfortunately for me, I'm not a mind reader. I couldn't guess at what he was feeling. I only knew that he was keeping it at bay under the surface of his own thoughts, and it was showing, just barely by the downward curve of his mouth and the wrinkles between his eyebrows.

I shivered in realization that even though I didn't know what to expect from this man, that I _knew _him. He was with me every day from the moment I left him. My children were a product of him, and it was ultimately up to me whether he would ever have the pleasure of knowing just how wonderful they were. The weight of my responsibility was daunting, and the only reason I didn't run out of the room at that moment was that my children deserved to know their father. Yes, I was only here by some sort of strange coincidence on a dark road, but perhaps that was what I needed. Maybe that was a sign, that I needed to be doing things differently.

After finishing my tea ritual, I felt much calmer, and I began to tell him my story.

"I started off in Louisiana, at a finishing school owned by the Voltura family. It was beautiful old plantation with a large mansion, and each girl had their own room. I had everything I needed physically, but emotionally it was difficult for me. I was living with other society girls who knew far more than me, and I often felt behind. Luckily, they knew nothing of my past or my mother and Judge Dwyer, but I was afraid to get close to them, in fear that they would figure out that I wasn't one of them. I attended classes as required in diction, hostessing, household management and sewing, but other than that I kept to myself. Although life in Seattle was hard for me, I missed it terribly. I wrote letters to you and my mother nearly every day, and most of my spare time was spent was completing a letter or starting some sort of correspondence. I also kept a journal, which is now long gone.

"I knew I was pregnant that day in the garden, when you said goodbye. I tried to tell you, but I guess I was speechless. I thought you didn't want me, and I was scared to tell you I was pregnant. I was convinced that I would be even less desirable as a wife, as not only would I be uneducated, but I would also be a pregnant bride, and of course embarrassing for your family. I was also a bit shocked, you could say so I didn't think to tell my mother or anyone, I just simply let them move me away. About 3 weeks after I arrived, I was supposed to get my cycle. I missed it, but decided that if anyone asked I could blame it on stress. Afterward I had other symptoms, and I felt nauseous at every meal, but I told the nuns that worked there that my body was just adjusting to the new climate and cuisine.

"By the time I had missed my third cycle, I was starting to show. I noticed that my dresses were tighter, so I started to hoard food in hopes that it could be passed off as weight gain. I knew that I couldn't hide it forever, so I was buying time. I had no plan, and I didn't know who to turn to. By the time I had missed it a fourth cycle, Other people began to notice as well. A very nice teacher, Sister Judith, asked me to confide in her. I thought I could trust her, and maybe get some direction as to what I could do, or where I could go, but apparently her loyalty lay more with the academy than with keeping confidence.

Just two days after telling her, I was escorted into the office, and my mother and Judge Dwyer were there at the desk with the headmaster, Marcus Voltura. My mother had tears in her eyes, and I knew that she knew. I couldn't look at her. I looked at Judge Dwyer, and I could tell he was angry. They asked me to admit in front of everyone, so I did. I told them you were the father. I saw Philip give my mother a look, and then asked me to leave. Of course I just sat outside the door and listened.

"It was an election year for my step-father, and he was worried about how this "incident" would tarnish his campaign. Marcus Voltura offered him a solution: he had a brother who ran a Mother's home in North Carolina, one that was very private, and had a good reputation for "discretion. "He was sure they could find a place for me. He told Judge Dwyer that "these things happened all the time," and that I could be transferred there without anyone finding out about my condition. Judge Dwyer jumped upon it immediately, and my mother agreed with his dutifully.

I moved to North Carolina three days later, riding in the train with my mother and Judge Dwyer. He told me more than once that I may as well not bother contacting you, because he wanted to keep this under wraps. He told me that he'd tell you himself, and told me in no uncertain terms that if this were to be revealed to the media, that his career would be ruined, and he would hold me personally responsible. I told him I wouldn't stop writing you, and I remember his words like it was yesterday, "_Write him all you want, Isabella, he won't want to hear from the likes of you after this."_ It was hard not to believe him.

"He never told me," Edward interjected.

"I know that, now. But at the time I wasn't sure if he had told you, or not, or had told you something completely different. I had no access to telegraph, so I knew that he could certainly get to you before any letter of mine would reach you. Still, I tried to write to explain, hoping you would believe me.

"Life at the mother's home was very different than the finishing academy, although my mother still called it "the academy" and still asked how I liked my "classes". There was no school there at all. The only thing that was the same was that most of the girls there also came from upper class families. Most of them didn't want to be there, and many of them, like me were hoping to reunite with their boyfriends once they were out. Some of the more experienced girls told us it was a lost cause, that by the time we were done our "nine month sentence" our boyfriends will have moved on.

While the finishing school made money from tuition, the mother's home made money from guaranteeing discretion for the important parents of the residents who were there, such as me. One of the effects of this "discretion", is that we were all far away from our families. No one who was anyone would have their pregnant daughter in the same state as them, as it would have been much easier to be discovered. Because of that, visits from family were often sporadic.

"The result was that the school had a lot of freedom in how they operated, and what they did behind close doors, and what they represented to families was completely different. Behind the fancy tours and information packets they gave to parents, The Volterra Mother's Home was really a source of cheap labour for the town. The home ran a laundry service that was used by several families and a few restaurants in the vicinity, some of the girls with smaller bellies were hired as temporary maids in some homes. Other residents were relegated to the kitchen in private homes where no one but the cooks would see them. As my belly grew quickly, because there were twins, I spent more time in the laundries than anywhere else.

"You would think that girls from upstanding homes would run right away to daddy and tell him about the deplorable conditions, right?" I chuckled humorlessly, "That's what I thought, though I'd never been amongst pregnant socialite girls. They were the black sheep of the family. Some were rebellious, most weren't. But because we were all pregnant, we were all seen as loose, and it was easy to disregard our claims. The few girls who tried to tell their families that they were being used as nothing more than glorified slaves were laughed off, their parents were given a "detailed" tour of the home, and then the girls were made of an example of afterwards, as they always ended up cleaning toilets for a couple weeks after making their claims. We learned very quickly that trying to tell anyone the truth was futile."

I looked up, and saw that Edward saw on the couch with his hands clenched on his thighs so hard, his knuckles were a bright white. I placed by tea cup down and poured him another, "We can't do anything about the past, Edward. Everything I'm telling you right now happened a long time ago."

Edward nodded his head, but didn't unclench his fists, "I swear Isabella, if I had known-"

"I know, Edward," and I bent my head down. I didn't know, really. I mean, I knew what he was going to say, but I really didn't know yet if I believed him. I believed he thought that's what he would have done, in retrospect. But at the moment? I wasn't sure whether he would have been the hero he thought he should have been, or whether he would have followed the words and Advice of this mother once more.

"The work schedule was run by an evil woman named Jane Drew," I continued, " Jane had a personal vendetta against pregnant women. Hearing some of the girls talk, they thought maybe she was forced to be an old maid and jealous of all the unwed mothers she had to take care of. Others thought she believed that sex before marriage was the worst kind of sin, and she aimed to make us all contrite. This woman had no compassion, and thought that rigorous work routines and back breaking labour were the answer to our 'predicament'.

"I continued to write to you, and while most of the girls around me were hoping their children would be adopted, I refused to go that route. Every day that your babies were in my belly, I loved them more and more. How could I not? And when they kicked the first time, I felt so…connected."

I stopped and blushed, realizing that I was rubbing my stomach in front of Edward, and was starting to daydream of those early times.

"After a while, I was desperate to get out of there. I was physically and mentally drained from living in that place. Eventually I convinced myself that if you only knew what had happened, you would come and get me;"

"I would have," Edward responded quickly, "Please believe that, I never would have left you there had I known, I would have taken responsibility;"

"I know, Edward" I said, putting up a hand to stop him. "I know. But this is a hard story to tell so, please, I need to finish." I partly said that because I hoped it was true, and partly to placate Edward so I could finish my tale.

"I started to call every week at first, each time being told you were not home. Eventually I spoke with Mrs. Mallory, and she informed me that you and Lauren were practically engaged." I saw Edward's fists suddenly uncurled and he jumped up from his spot and began to pace. His fingers flexed at his side and his jaw was strained. Instead of interrupting myself again, I stood up, and placed a hand on top of his and he relaxed. He stared straight ahead for a moment, and then slowly, his hand came up to rest on my. Honestly, it felt so good to have his hand on me. Too good, and I felt torn between standing there forever, and running back to the safety of the sofa. Eventually I tugged on his hand, and he sat down, this time opting for the seat beside mine. It was heaven and hell to have him so close, especially in that moment, as my tale was far from over.

"Even after speaking with Mrs. Mallory, I didn't believe her, so I became determined to find my way back to Seattle to come and find you. I even went to Aro and asked for my emergency money, claiming that I had a friend in need, but he called my mother, and she and Phillip denied my request. Even so, I found a way to gain access to my file in Aro's office while I was cleaning it, and took some of the money out. I didn't dare take all of it, lest he noticed that it was missing.

"Just before that time, things began to change for me at Volterra. After one of my check-ups Dr. Voltura, who we called by his first name, Aro when he wasn't listening began asking me if I wanted extra things. This was unusual as he was typically dispassionate and cold in demeanor. He even asked Jane to put me on "light duty", which was unheard of. I did take some of the lighter jobs when I physically couldn't take it anymore, but I usually tried to do the same work the other girls did as I didn't want to make them jealous. One of the duties I could still manage was sweeping and dusting the main hallway in the home.

"After Dr. Voltura denied my request to return to Seattle, I found out why I was being treated to special. It was during my "light duty" in which I was dusting the wainscoting in the hallway that I passed Dr.'s office, and I heard my name. I was intrigued of course, and it didn't take long for me to figure out what was going on. The man and the woman in his office were negotiating a _price_ for my unborn children. Mine! I could hear the Doctor stating prices and explaining that the money would go on to "help" future girls in trouble like me, as though he was running a charity."

I stopped for a moment, to regain my composure. I was getting to the most difficult part of the story, and I realized I was shaking. I lifted my tea cup, realizing that the tremors in my hand were making it difficult to drink and the tea was threatening to splash out. I wasn't sure whether I should try to drink or just put the cup down, when Edward's warm hand engulfed mine, steadying the cup. Together, we lifted the cup to my lips. As took a sip of tea, I looked up to see his warm, green eyes regarding me. I saw a storm of emotions in them, sadness, confusion, a lot of anger, but also compassion. Seeing that was what helped me continue with my story.

"He knew you were the father," I blurted out. Edward looked at me, confused, "I suppose Judge Dwyer told them. From what I heard the couple was from the Midwest, but had family on the West Coast and were familiar with your family's name. That was also when I found that Aro believed that I was having twins. This excited the woman in the room very much.

"I'm not sure how to describe the feelings I had in that moment. To find out I was having twins was overwhelming, but to find out that the doctor was already selling my babies? I felt sick. I couldn't allow it. I wanted to run away throw up, and at the same time I wanted to break through that door and beat the life out of whoever thought they could have _my _babies. Luckily, I chose the former.

"One night later, I planned my escape, such as it were. After lights were out one night, I packed a bag, slipped out of the kitchen doors and walked to the train station, which was about a 45 minutes away. It was already dark out, so I didn't think I'd been seen. I figured I'd have to sleep at the train station, but I was fine with that. In my mind it was much better than the alternative. I had that small amount of money, enough to get me to Chicago. I knew you had family there so I thought I'd try and look them up, but I never got that far. When I got to the train station, Aro was waiting for me. He grabbed me by the arm, raised his voice at me and publicly shamed me for my "loose ways". He accused me of stealing the money, and dragged me away. He also showed my face to the ticket master, warning them to never sell me a ticket and report me to the home if I was seen again. I realized that he knew I had left and had intentionally met me at the train station to embarrass me, and as a means of making sure I didn't try to leave again."

I looked up and saw that Edward's eyes were stormy and his face was red. I placed my hands on his and simply said, "Save your anger, it gets worse,"

I took a deep breath. Soon I would have to explain to Edward and how and why I'd almost died and then gave his children to another man. I only hoped that in the end, he'd realize that I had done it – and would have still done anything, to keep my children safe.


	15. Chapter 15

Thank you for your patience. I think about this story often, and as much as I wanted to finish and upload this chapter a long time ago, life momentarily took me in another direction. I hope you enjoy

As always, Stephenie Meyer owns Twlight, and I'm just borrowing her characters and not making any money from it.

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><p>BPOV<p>

_From Chapter 14:_

"_I looked up and saw that Edward's eyes were stormy and his face was red. I patted his hand and simply said, "Save your anger, it gets worse," _

_I took a deep breath. Soon I would have to explain to Edward and how and why I'd almost died and then gave his children to another man. I only hoped that in the end, he'd realize that I had done it – and would have still done anything, to keep my children safe."_

Chapter 15

"Dr. Aro had a lot of power in that town, but he didn't have nearly as much motivation as I did. He didn't know that I had listened in on his conversation, so he was oblivious to just how desperate I was to get out of there. On his part, he also had a huge financial and now legal motivation to keep me there. I wasn't sure how much that couple had offered for my babies, but it must have been a lot, because after I was returned to the home, I was treated like a criminal. Jane cut my hair off," I patted the back of my head, remembering the feeling of the locks of hair that hung jagged and uneven around me ears and the nape of my neck, "And I was locked room in which I was served meals. I wasn't allowed to see anyone, and I wasn't allowed to have writing paper or pens. All of my journals were confiscated, and I was left with just a change of clothes, pajamas and some other necessities.

"Even so, I spent my time scheming as to how to get out of there. I figured maybe the staff would be lazy one night and leave the door unlocked, or maybe I could begin to befriend one of the staff and they would be sympathetic to my story.

"It wasn't long after I ended up locked in that room, that your letter and the wedding invitation arrived. You can't imagine how I felt." I paused, and swallowed thickly to rid my throat of the thick lump that had formed there. I didn't want to admit how utterly heartbroken that letter had made me. I had to finish my story before opening any other cans of worms, Even though I didn't believe anyone could imagine what that time was like for me.

But Edward surprised me when he said, "I suppose I can. Perhaps it was like the day I thought you died." As his voice cracked at the end of that statement, a small piece of doubt in my heart was replaced by a bit of hope that perhaps Edward was sincere when he said he hadn't written that letter.

"Anyway, despite that new information, I was more determined than ever to get out of the Mother's Home. Time was not on my side, as I was growing bigger every day and it was getting harder to move around. I had to find an ally, and an employee named Miss Martha was my best bet. She seemed the most sympathetic, so one evening when she brought me my supper, I told her everything. She was hesitant at first, and even tried to convince me that perhaps giving my children to a good home with a married couple was better for them. But I showed her the ring you gave me, and I lied. I told her that I was engaged,-"

"That wasn't a lie, Bella!" I looked up to see a mixture of anger and desperation on Edward's face. I didn't know what to say to that. Clearly time had taken us both on different paths. Given the information I had held onto for more than a dozen years, what I had said at the time was not the truth. I nodded mutely and continued, neither confirming nor denying his proclamation.

"I told Miss Martha that if I could just get back to you, this "baby" would be born into a married home, and it would be loved. I didn't know if she knew about the twins, but I wasn't about to show her my cards.

"Eventually, Miss Martha decided to help. The next day she came back, told me she had prayed for me, and was told by God she needed to help me get out of there. I was never so happy to hear that God had spoken to someone. It turns that Martha had a cousin in Cleveland who I could go to. I told her about the train station incident, which she already knew about, but agreed to help me get to another train station about an hour in the other direction.

A couple days later Miss Martha showed up unexpectedly at my room around 2am. She wasn't able to know ahead of time when she'd be able to sneak me out, so she came and got me from my room the moment she was available. The house was completely silent, and apparently Jane was fast asleep. Dr. Voltura didn't live on the premises and for that reason we were able to sneak out. I had almost no belongings left so I wore two sets of clothes and stashed some food and a small amount of money in my pockets. Martha had also brought me a kerchief to cover my short hair, and a letter to give to her cousin. We didn't want the noise of driving, so we walked about 3 miles to where Martha had hidden some bicycles. As uncomfortable as I was on that thing, I was grateful for the speed it gave me as opposed to walking. I was also terrified. Until that point, I had never been so scared in my life. I was frightened that Aro would do what he'd done last time, or worse. But we did make it to the train station, and luckily no one was there waiting for me this time. Unfortunately, it was almost 4am, so I had to wait two hours until I could buy a ticket. I was usually brought my breakfast at 6:30, so as long as I could get on a train before they found me missing, I would be OK. Luckily for me, there was a train heading north at 6:15, so I was fairly sure that by the time they saw my empty bed, I would be long gone.

"I remember seeing myself in the reflection of the glass when I bought the ticket, and I became more relieved. I didn't look much like a pregnant lady anymore. With two sets of baggy dresses on, a kerchief on my head, and the bags under my eyes from my distress and exhaustion I looked more like a homely older woman. I couldn't have been happier about that

On the trip to Cleveland, I felt freer than I had in years. I felt like I could do anything, and a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Once I arrived there, I found Miss Martha's cousin, Charlotte."

Edward's face brightened in recognition, "So that's where…?"

"Yes," I answered, "That's where my-our- daughter Charlotte got her name. Charlotte immediately welcomed me into her home, even before she read the letter, and I stayed there for about two weeks before I was forced to move on."

Edward gave me a quizzical look, so I explained, "Somehow, Dr. Voltura found out my whereabouts. I'm not sure if I'd been seen, or he somehow found out that Martha had helped me. All I know is that one afternoon a big burly man knocked on Charlotte's door, and it just didn't feel right. Charlotte all but shoved me into a closet, and answered the door." I vividly remembered the feeling of that closet, as though it was etched on my brain. I was surrounded by pitch black, and the closet smelled like wool coats and mothballs. A few inches above my head was a hold in the door from a knot in the wood, so I stood on my toes to watch everything as it unfolded.

"When Charlotte opened the door, there was a large man with tanned skin and curly dark hair. The man asked about me, said he knew I was here, and claimed he was my husband, of all things. Charlotte faked an accent, maybe Italian? I'm not sure, and pretended to not understand a word he said, so he repeated himself louder. She even invited him in the home, and when he saw no trace of me, he left. I remember thinking at the time, that for as good as he was at following me, he wasn't very good at searching. I'm not sure why, but after not too long he seemed anxious to get out of there. When it was safe, Charlotte came and got me from the closet. I left that evening. I wasn't at Charlotte's home for very long I'll never forget it, or her hospitality. We still write each other quite often."

My mind wandered back to that time. Those two weeks at Charlotte's house were liberating, and when I think of home, I think of her little cottage on the Ohio River. In fact, many of the things in my home remind me of her place. My patchwork curtain to my bedroom I made myself, inspired by the memory of a painting on her wall. The cross stitch was similar to one in her room. Charlotte had taught me the basics of quilting, so all my quilts reminded me of her as well. When I smell black coffee and baking bread and fresh apples, I still think of those two weeks in Charlotte's home.

Returning from my daydream, I continued, "I had no money, but Charlotte suggested I try getting to Canada. That's how I ended up here, not really knowing what else to do. I was afraid of being watched or caught up with, and her and I both thought that travelling all the way to Chicago was simply too risky, even if I was able to get enough money to do so. Charlotte told me that twins often delivered sooner than single births, so I was also nervous that I would go into labour with no help.

"She gave me a bit of money that she had, which was enough for a couple of meals, so to get to Canada, I'd have to hitch a ride with someone. After speaking to a few drivers who were not headed in the direction of Canada at all, I became nervous that I would be found, and a little less picky as to where I was headed. I eventually found a driver that was going to Pennsylvania, and so I ended up in Allentown. Needing to eat and a place to sleep for the night, I spent most of my money there.

It didn't take but one day for the man that was searching for me to show up there, and I discovered that he didn't work alone. I had no idea how he found me, but I realized that I was underestimating their ability to follow me. I didn't know what to do at this point. I thought I would be running forever. I couldn't imagine how I was going to survive moving from city to city, on the run with newborn twins. I was close to giving up." I ended the last part in a whisper. I was so ashamed of those thoughts, but at the time I truly didn't know what else to do. Edward patted my hand gently, urging me to continue.

"I had one last chance, so I took it. I went to the train station, and in a last ditch effort, I begged. I told the station master that I was pregnant, and that I was on my way to upstate New York to see my husband, who was waiting for me. I didn't want to tell him I was going to Canada, as I thought that might look suspicious. I took the engagement ring you gave me and flipped it upside down and placed it on my finger, so it looked like a gold wedding band. I remember the dubious look the stationmaster gave me. I imagined at the time that he'd heard every story in the book, so I told him that I could give birth any day now, and that I really didn't want to give birth alone in this city, let alone on the platform of the Allentown train station.

"Well, fortunately he was squeamish enough, he offered me a ticket to Albany NY and I took it straight away. I boarded the train and took a seat right next to the ticket window. And then I saw the large man and that had been following me, and I saw that he wasn't alone. There was a smaller, more wiry man with me" My heart suddenly sped up, as I remembered the panic in seeing those men.

" I watched the gestures of the man and the station master, and I saw by the way he made a round shape over his belly that he was asking for me. The station master on his part looked furious, but the train was starting to pull away. Just then, the he got the train to stop to let the men on board, and I knew I had to leave.

Faking a coughing fit, I moved back several cars to the back of the train. I found a door that was not being monitored, slipped out the other side so I was on the tracks. There were some train cars standing on another track, and somehow by the grace of God I managed to get underneath one of those. I hid for hours."

I looked up suddenly at Edward. His face was tight and his eyes were cast downward. I was worried that I was being too detailed with my description, "I'm sorry, I'm rambling I can skip over some –"

Edward looked up at me with a strange fire in his eyes, "You will do no such thing. I want to hear every word. I have to ask though, that's the train, isn't it?"

I looked up at Edward in realization, "Yes, that's...well that's the train I didn't die on. My name had remained on the passenger list even though I got off, so when they listed the missing passengers, well my body was never recovered."

Edward surprised me by embracing me, and then leaning back and placing his hands on my shoulders. "For what it's worth," he started, "I'm sorry this happened to you. But you have to know how brave I think you were – no, how brave I think you are. You did all of this for our children. I think this is probably one of the most heroic stories I've ever heard. And I have to say that I am so, so happy that you were run off that train, or else..." His voice cracked, and I knew what he was thinking, because I had thought it many times. If I hadn't run off the train, I wouldn't have survived the crash. Edward gently kissed my forehead, possibly to try and hide the look of pain that had taken over his face. Edward then sat back into his seat. The place where he had kissed me burned and tingled, and I couldn't deny that my heart had started to race. Edward sat a respectable distance from me again, only this time, he reached across the distance and clasped both my hands as I continued.

"It got darker out. The train I was on had long since departed, and I had no idea if the men had gotten on the train, and if they had, whether they had ever gotten off. I hadn't heard any voices searching for me, and my best assumption was that if they thought I had gotten off the train, the two men _and _the station master would be after me. After all, I had lied to him, and I was no better than a free loader in his eyes.

"When it was dark enough, I slipped out from under the car and headed toward a road. Eventually, I found a ride that was headed to Bennington Vermont, and I knew I had to take what I could get.

"When I arrived in Bennington, the sky turned dark and rain started to fall heavily, and once more I was faced with having to choose the lesser of two evils. I headed to a hotel downtown and asked about accommodations, hoping for something and not really expecting anything. I had no idea what I was going to do. I had no job, no family there, no doctor, and I was nearing the end of my pregnancy. I probably looked like a big pregnant wet rat. I hadn't showered; My hair was a mess..."

I recalled that moment in a bittersweetly to Edward, "I had gone into the hotel and explained that I would do anything for a job, and a man named Billy Black was there. He told me he was neighbors with a doctor, he offered me a lift back to his place, and a bed for the night." I felt Edward tense beside me, so I reassured him, "It was one of the only strokes of luck that I'd had in a long time. Suddenly someone was there, telling me I might find accommodation, a doctor, a meal –"

"So you just took it?" Edward asked me, incredulous, "Isabella, he could have been anything, he could have hurt you, or-"

"But he didn't," I told Edward bluntly. I was irritated by his sudden concern for me. I just told him about hiding under railroad cars and hitching rides across the country, and now he worries? Although admittedly, I had the same thoughts when I accepted Billy's offer, but I knew that I didn't really have any other options.

"There was no other choice." I told Edward gently, but firmly, "It was either that or hope that the hotel would give me a free place to sleep, that this little town where I knew no one would give a pregnant woman a job, and that my babies would survive without a doctor. I had to take the risk. It was that or nothing.

"Anyhow, it turned out that Billy was telling the truth. He was also an honourable man, and gave me a bed and a meal."

I paused, because I was afraid that I was getting to the part of the story which Edward would not like very much.

"Billy was Jacob's father. That's how I met Jake and ended up on this farm." I paused for a reaction, and instead only felt a thick silence fall between us, so I carried on.

"The morning after I arrived, Billy took me to Dr Cullen's house, where I was given a room. Billy hadn't forgotten me, and soon after he arrived to visit and make sure that I was settled, and he brought Jacob with him. Jacob was very polite to me, and even offered his help in any way,"

"I'm sure he did," I heard Edward grumble, but I decided to ignore the comment. I had to finish this story, and I knew that If I said anything to defend Jacob, it would only start an argument that I wasn't ready to have.

"Jacob and Billy visited almost every day, and soon Jacob was visiting on his own and we became very good friends. I began to trust him, and told him my story, and he was the one who first brought me the news of my "death" on the train. It's strange to say, but it was such a relief. I knew that Aro would stop looking for me, and I could build a life without having to always look over my shoulder.

I still had the problem however, that I was destined to be a single mother with twins, with nowhere to go. I was nameless; I had no documents, and no one to support me - not even distant relatives.

"That's not true!" Edward interjected, "You had me!" I looked up at him with fire in my eyes at his comment. I didn't want to do this now. I didn't want to explain what his letters, whether false or not, had done to me. A little part of me had died when I read the letter proclaiming his engagement, when he cut ties with me. But I would defend all my choices, including Jacob, if Edward pushed me to do it at that moment.

Edward must have seen the flash in my eyes, and his features softened, "I know how it must have seemed, but I just want you to remember, that I never forgot about you."

"In your eyes, Edward, I was dead," Pain slashed through his features, so let go of the harsh tone in my voice, "Even if I had believed that you would take me back when you found out, I had no way of doing so. I couldn't just telegram you and tell you that I wasn't really dead and that I was in fact 8 months pregnant with your twins. A trip was out of the question at that time, even with the money. And, as hard as this is to hear, I thought you were already happily married to someone else." I ended the last part in a whisper, and I heard Edward take a shaky breath.

Before he spoke I had to continue, I had to let him know that no one forced me to marry Jacob, "I chose, of my own volition to marry Jacob. If I had chosen to stay single I am sure that Dr and Mrs. Cullen would have let me stay on here as long as I wanted. But you need to understand that I felt like a burden here. Even after the children were grown, what could a single mother offer to an already established family? And..." I continued hesitantly, "I saw possibility with Jacob. As far as I knew, the only man I'd ever loved had moved on, and here I had a good friend who accepted me for who I was. He was willing to take me on, even though I was burden, and was agreeing to raise another man's children as though they were his own. Chances like that don't come around often, Edward."

I could tell by his face that my words were hurting him, but I also saw understanding when he looked in my eyes. I didn't run away from Edward, I ran from awful circumstances, and Jacob was my saviour.

"I accepted his proposal gratefully. Jacob was only 17 at the time, so with his father's permission we married the next week, and I moved to the farm we live at now. Jacob was a good husband, and a good father. "

I saw Edward look away, and I was fairly certain he was blinking back tears. I knew this would be hard for him to hear after what he told me. I can't imagine what it was like for him to hear all of this, but I knew it must be at least as overwhelming as when I was told that he was never engaged to Lauren, and that he didn't write the letter that broke my heart all those years ago.

After that, the room was silent for a small spell. I felt drained. I had nothing left to give after telling my story. There were still twelve years of memories unspoken between us, but I didn't have it in me to give. I chose instead to let the silence reign between us.

But Edward had other ideas. "I want to meet my children," He said simply. I sucked in a big breath. I was expecting this. As much as it frightened me to take this step, I had to remind myself that this was the reason I had told Edward who I was; It was the reason I was sitting here telling him everything.

I had no grand illusions that Edward and I would ever be anything more than acquaintances. He still made my heart race, and I still saw the young man I loved in his features, but I had to be realistic. I wasn't born or raised in Edward's world. I was a farmer and a homemaker. I was the cook, the maid, the nurse, and the teacher in my own house. I was plain in my clothing and my lifestyle. Edward's world was completely different. Edward's world wouldn't have even hired someone like me to serve them their meal. We may as well have lived on different planets, because lives like his and lives like mine, simply never intersected.

This was what scared me. How would he react to seeing our children? I could not, would not let them be hurt, and they couldn't be out in public with him. They would never be able to go to the city lest they be identified, and even if they were, I would insist on being with them, which was not possible. All it would take would be for one photograph, a newspaper column, or socialite gossip to make its way back to Elizabeth. As much as I believe Edward that he wouldn't try to change our lives, I also believed that he would do just about anything for his mother, and I couldn't trust the power she had over him.

Although Edward was truthful when he said he'd never take the children, I had no doubt that intentionally or not, his meeting them would mean that things might change a great deal. I wasn't sure if I was ready for that change. Unfortunately for me, I was out of time. As much as I wanted to delay Edward meeting them, I would never be able to look my children in the eye if I didn't give them a chance to know their father.

"Very well," I said, clearing my throat to try and mask the uncertainty that lay there, "I need to tell them first though. So I will need a chance to speak to them before you meet them. Come to my house tonight, at 7pm, and you can be introduced"

"Thank you, Isabella," Edward said with a small smile. He gave my hands a final squeeze and slowly pulled his away. They felt cold and alone without a connection to him, but I chose to ignore the feeling that stirred within me.

"You're welcome Edward, so long as you remember the promise you made to me."

"Absolutely, I can promise you I would never, ever take them from you. That is something you'll never have to worry about."

Foolish or not, I believed Edward when he said he wouldn't take them from me. It was other things that could happen that scared me. I didn't know what all of this meant, but I knew my life was about to change again, and I wasn't ready for it in the least.


End file.
